Cenozoic
by lamentomori
Summary: "What if this really is madness and you should both just call it quits, try something else, try the one thing you've never tried." The creation and destruction of their relationship has been endured, now all that's left, is to see where they stand. Warnings: Third part of Tail of a Comet trilogy (I'd recommend reading one and two first) M for Slash (Colt/Punk), smut, profanity.
1. Paleogene: Paleocene

_Warnings: 2nd Person Colt POV, Slash, Profanity._

* * *

The date of his return looms over you, for all you are focused on it, want it to come, want to sit him down and just talk this over, you dread it. There is a tiny, ever-growing part of you that dwells on his note, that picks at it and has concluded that it is not as hopeful as you first thought. He can't do this anymore, he needs you but in what capacity. You need him too, you know this, it's been miserably confirmed to you so very many times and yet, you know that nothing you have tried to be to each other works. Being his lover, whilst you might hate the word, you suppose you were his _boyfriend_ back when he was first signed, that worked for a little while, at least until you were distracted and busy. Then it fell apart so you came to the arrangement and it's destroying you, breaking you into little pieces every time you have to leave him. It's harder and harder to not hold him, to not kiss him, smother him in your arms and keep him safe. Now, you're not sure where you stand, it's in his hands, as it always is, you think perhaps, you should take the reins from him sometimes, you should wrest control of your situation from him and govern your relationship more, yet the thought of being the one to make the decision scares you. What if you make the decision and things break again? What if third time's a charm? It may be but what if this both of you trying and trying the same thing over and over and over again, hoping for different results? What if this really is madness and you should both just call it quits, try something else, try the one thing you've never tried. You think that perhaps all of the times he's asserted that if you had met earlier in your lives, you would have hated each other might be true. It might have been easier to hate him. If when you'd first laid eyes on him, your thoughts that he was nothing but a dirty kid who got hot chicks was as far as your relationship went, your lives would have been easier if nothing else. Easy, the very idea makes you laugh, nothing about him is easy, nothing about your life with him in it has been easy _but_ the sex. Even if it was awkward as hell the first time, it had been easy to kiss him, easy to hold him, easy to bury yourself inside his body. Your mind has been waltzing in circles since he left, round and around like a dervish and you know you're getting nowhere.

_FUCKING FIX THIS MESS IT'S FUCKING RIDICULOUS! - Ace 11:05_

Ace was right, this mess and mess it is, is ridiculous but brooding, you're capable of admitting that is what you're doing, isn't going to help it any. You need to wait for him, to hear what he has to say and then go from there. Knowing what you need to do and actually being able to do it, though, those are two different things.

The day of his arrival home, you feel buzzed, like being drunk without the alcohol, you start walking to his place a dozen times, each time getting a little closer, only to turn back to your own apartment. You think that if anyone was watching you, they'd think you were crazy, almost pacing on the sidewalk. All day you manage to stretch out this stupidity. When you finally make it to his door, you stand staring at it, his key in your pocket, feeling like you might throw up. Instead of brooding like a teenager, you should have been planning like the adult you supposedly are. You turn back and head home again. It's too early to be here, it's only just gone seven, he won't be back for hours. You make it all the way home and sit on the sofa, staring at the wall, trying very hard not to think of anything. Thinking hasn't been working out so well for you. You can't help but wonder if he's agonising over this as much as you are. The thought of him trying to sort the mess of his feelings out, his pain, it only makes you want to wrap him up and that's the crux of your problem really. For so long you've wanted to keep him safe, safe from the World, safe from himself, safe from yourself, even and for so long he's relied on you to offer that safety. What if he's decided he doesn't want that anymore?

You get to his place a little after ten and consider where would be the best place to meet him. The living room, too confrontational, the bedroom, too intimate, the hall, too desperate, you staunchly ignore the part of you that screams you are desperate and settle on the kitchen, the only room in this cavernous place that feels like it has any personality. You leave the ugly blanket, neatly folded, on the table in his longue and head to the kitchen, sitting on one of the stools, staring at the calendar. July seventeenth and its rings, like the Saturn of dates.

_"My WWE contract, it expires in July."_

You remember him saying, remember how he had looked at you with something odd in his eyes, how you had no idea what he'd wanted from you, had no idea how to answer him and now, well his D-Day is close. July seventeenth is when his contract is up, you suppose. You try to imagine how he feels about it but keep drawing blanks.

The sound of the front door closing surprises you. You turn to face the kitchen door and wait for him to appear. You hear what sounds like him shuffling through the house; hear a thud of what you suppose is his bag, hitting the floor in the lounge and him swearing softly.

"Fuck." You push the kitchen door open, his back is to you; even from behind, he looks tired, the ugly blanket is clutched to his chest, his reflection, in the big window, shows that his face is buried against it, his shoulders shaking slightly. Wrong idea, wrong message, you almost sigh; instead, you step closer and wrap your arms around him.

"Hey." Colt Cabana, last of the great romantics, you think, staring at the reflection of you both, you plastered against his back, him with his face still buried against the ugly blanket.

"Hi." He shakes his head and doesn't say anything else, just turns in your arms, hiding his face against your neck, his shoulders still shaking but you don't feel anything like tears, he's just shaking. The mildly insane creature from the airport bathroom, is gone for now it would seem. You stand holding him for what seems like an age, the weight he's leaning on you, increasing as time passes. He makes an odd snuffling noise, like he's asleep and jerks in your arms. "Tired." He mutters softly, you smile against his hair and squeeze him tightly.

"Bed?" He shakes his head.

"Shower, won't be long." You'd like for him to look at you, you'd like to see his eyes, his face, something other than his still slightly shaking body and the back of his head. "You staying?" There's more than a hint of pleading in his tone, something desperate and needy that calls to you, the urge to keep him safe swells again.

"Not sure it would be responsible to let you shower alone. Did you sleep at all?" He chuckles softly and nods against your neck.

"Course." He steps away from you, catching your hands; his face still turned from you and leads you upstairs. "What you think of the place?" He asks, his voice carefully neutral.

"It's." You sigh and pull him close to you, turning his head so he has to look at you. "It's big, expensive, nice." You tell him, his eyes focus on your own, murky and soft, ringed with red. "You didn't sleep a wink." It's not a question and he doesn't treat it as such, offering no answers, just collapsing against you slightly. "Shower in the morning." You keep him moving, his bedroom is one of these doors, you're sure.

"Dirty." He grumbles, walking backwards, not moving from where he's slumped at against your chest. "This one." He grabs at a doorknob and you open it for him, guiding him backwards to his bed. You spare a quick glance for the lemon on the table and watch as he slumps over on the bed, the ugly blanket clutched to his chest, his eyes trained on that little dried out fruit. You kneel down in front of him.

"You want me to stay or go home? We need to talk but you're in no shape for it." His hand cups your cheek, stroking your sideburn.

"Stay with me." His voice is _so_ soft it alarms you, you sure you've never seen him quite this tired and soft. "_Please_."

"I'm not going anywhere." You tell him softly. "Move over." He scoots over to rest his head on the pillows of the other side of the bed. You think you should probably strip down, at least get under the comforter but instead you take the ugly blanket from him, spread it over him and slip under the other side of it, gathering him to you. "I'll be right here in the morning." You tell him, stroking his lank hair. He sighs softly, happily and nuzzles against your chest.

"G'night Colt." You think you'll never get tired of hearing him say that to you, as simple as it is, it makes your heart feel lighter. You squeeze him gently and listen to his soft breathing for a few seconds before replying.

"G'night Punkers."

* * *

So this is the first chapter of the third and final part of the Tail of a Comet trilogy. (If you've not read the other two, I'd recommend taking a look, especially if you got all the way down to the author notes at the bottom, it'll explain the more odd comments in the story but mostly the lemons, the ugly blanket and anything else that seems random or odd.)

Naming scheme for the Colt chapters is as complicated as it is convoluted: Cenozoic Age being the one we currently live in, divides into three _eras_ and seven _epoch__s_. This is the first epoch of the first era. Punk will be sticking with wrestling terms, cause he's a traditionalist like that.

Update speeds, I am hoping once a week, my new timetable is a bit all over the place so writing time may be down, this may or may not be a good thing, depending on your point of view.

**_As we're just getting started your words mean a great deal so as ever: Please leave a review, even if it's just "Hey, that didn't suck", I'd be so far and beyond grateful. Heck even if you thought it did suck, tell me too, something is better than nothing after all. :D First time reviewer? Don't be shy! I'm nice, honest(!), not matter what you think your thoughts are important to me. :3_**


	2. Starting Bell

_Punk chapter: 1 person PoV Warnings: Slash, Profanity, Mild insanity._

* * *

_PUNK WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? - Papa Ace 22:05_

_Pardon? - sent 22:10_

_THAT! ON THE FUCKING RAMP! WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT PHILIP? - Papa Ace 22:15_

_A promo? -sent 22:19_

_PUNK! - Papa Ace 22:20_

_What? They wanted me to air my grievances so I did. There were a lot of them, I guess. I think it got a little rambling... - sent 22:25_

_RAMBLING! FUCKING RAMBLING! GOD DAMN IT PUNK CAN YOU NOT BLOW UP BRIDGES WHILST YOURE STANDING ON THEM! - Papa Ace 22:29_

_Force of habit? - sent 22:32_

_Incoming Call_

_Colt Cabana_

_Accept Reject_

_"Where are you?" _Colt?

"The departures lounge, first class, it's-"

_"Where?"_

"Vegas, obviously. Why?"

_"Just fucking stay there."_

"Why? I have a plane to catch." I have to get going, why the _fuck _do you want me to hang around in a fucking airport?

_"Don't move. You don't fucking move from that spot, I'm gonna be there soon so just fucking stay there."_ Shit.

_DID YOU TELL CABANA TO FUCKING COME MEET ME?! - sent 23:02_

_YOURE BOTH FUCKING IDIOTS. SORT SOMETHING OUT AND STOP BLOWING UP BRIDGES YOU STUPID LITTLE BASTARD! - Papa Ace 23:09_

_I don't know what you're talking about Ace and neither do you. - sent 23:20_

_PHILADELPHIA PHILIP AND WHATEVER THE HELL IT IS YOUVE GONE AND DONE THIS TIME. SORT IT. NOW! - Papa Ace - 23:23_

Oh.

Oh, indeed Sir Punk.

Oh, shit. Shitshitshitshit. Okay, a plan, I need a plan and he needs a flight home. Four hours here, give or take, so first, the Internet. Colt's passport number, shit what is it, is it still in my cell? Should be, aha. Okay ticket bought, booking reference, flight number, done. Second, second, what to do, what to do?

You could try explaining yourself?

Yeah, that always works out _real_ well.

You _want_ to keep this bullshit limbo crap up?

Oh, of course, I just fucking _love _this. Shut up, I'm thinking.

Decisively too, I'm impressed. You know, there's a Seven Eleven over there, go buy a notebook and a pen, write him a letter.

That's actually the best idea you've ever had, Life. Thank you. What to say?

The truth?

The _truth_?

_**Scott, **_

_**I don't know what you want, I've no idea what **__**I want**__** if I'm honest but I do know **__**I can't do this anymore**__**. I can't, I just can't. I think we should talk but I won't lie, I don't want to. What I want is, I don't know, I have no idea what I want **__**BUT**__** it's not this, I can't take this anymore.**_

_**This is my house key, pretty obvious? I'll be back from Australia in a week, I don't remember the dates, should be on the calendar in the kitchen - LOOK!**_

_**Just **__**please!**__** Be there when I get back, we need, **__**I need**__** to talk to you, **__**I need you**__**.**_

_**Phil**_

Well, it's as heartfelt and girly, as I feared it might be, Sir Punk.

You wanted me to be honest! I have absolutely no idea what I want, even less what I'm actually doing.

That is abundantly clear. What are you doing now?

I need to put this somewhere he can find it.

"Hello, uh, Sir. How can I help you?"

"I'd like to store a bag." Bitch, don't you, _uh, Sir_ me.

"Name?"

"Colton, Scott Colton. That's C, O, L, T, O, N and Scott, two T's."

"_Thank _you, Sir. Your token."

"Thanksss." Bitch.

Well, what now, Sir Punk? He's got his key, his letter, his flight and a fifty. You finally decided to pay him?

He needs to get home.

_Ah_, I see. So, what now?

Now? Now, I wait.

Not going to plan, not going to strategise, _nothing_, Sir Punk?

Nope, gonna wait right here, like a good Punk.

Well, there he is.

Fuck, he looks pissed off.

Sexy though.

Shut up, you. He's _mine_.

Just saying, Sir Punk. Why is he dragging you into the men's room?

Ha, hell if I know!

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Oh, to have a heartfelt conversation by the urinals. He's a romantic, isn't he, this idiot of yours.

"You know, for once I have absolutely no idea!" I really don't, it's kind of fun really.

"Have you gone insane?"

I think we know the answer to that, Sir Punk.

"No, no, got over that."

Of course, you have because talking to the voices in your head, that's entirely normal.

It might be, I'm not a fucking mind reader, other people might talk to imaginary, anthropomorphised versions of Life all the time.

Or you might be fucking nuts, Sir Punk.

"What the fuck are you doing then?"

"I _told_ you. I. Don't. Know."

"You can't just walk out, walk away not fr-"

"It's what I do, isn't it? Cut and run when things don't go my way." Oh, _now_ you look contrite!

"Punk, if not for mine, then for the sake of Ace's sanity, what the hell are you doing?"

Stop talking Colt. Stop talking and fucking kiss me. That's it, forget, forget everything and kiss me like you mean it. Kiss me like you love me the way I love you.

"I'm catching a plane."

Bravely running away, _again_, Sir Punk.

Bravely catching a plane, you asshole. I already had to make up some bullshit excuse for getting a later one, they'll fucking kill me if I try it again.

Not if you're leaving on the seventeenth, Sir Punk, then it doesn't matter, does it?

"You sure you want the window seat Punk?"

"Hmm?" Kofi, shut up, I'm tired.

All the excitement of being briefly practical wearing on you, Sir Punk.

"You're usually up and down like a yo-yo in an elevator, man. I wanna sleep some on this flight."

"Hmm?"

"Okay, when you wake up and wanna move, you're gonna have to climb over my sleeping ass."

I'm sure you used to be less physically manifested.

And I'm sure I would be, Sir Punk, if you would actually go to sleep instead of staring at comics until you passed out. Sleep is something humans require, you know and I'm sure you've not slept since the plane.

Why _are_ you the Black Knight? Shouldn't you be the minstrel dude?

_Really_? You're the one seeing things and you're asking me questions? I'm just your hallucination, I don't know what the fuck I look like, Sir Punk.

"You okay there, Punker? You've been fucking weird the last few days, Oz too hot for you?"

"Kofi? Uh, yeah, I'm good."

"Punk, dude, you're staring at an empty chair. I'm worried about you, man. You look like shit."

"Well, don't you just say the sweetest things, oh Road-Wife of mine?"

"_Punk_, when did you last sleep? Like a proper night's sleep?"

"I sleep, I sleep all the time."

Of course you do, Sir Punk, _all the time_.

"Sure you do, Punker, sure you do. Try and get some tonight, okay? Or I'm drugging your Pepsi. Rohypnol can't be _that_ expensive."

"Fuck off before I shout rape, Kingston."

Is it rape if you don't say no, Sir Punk?

You can fuck off too!

"Hey, uh, Kofi?"

"Jesus fuck, Punk, you look like you're gonna fall over! Sit the fuck down, man!"

He's such a good Road-Wife, isn't he, Sir Punk?

"How long can someone live without sleeping?" I think I'm going mad. I think I need to sleep. I think when you start seeing things; it's time to start worrying.

"I dunno, Punk, how long has it been since you slept?"

"Uh, the plane, I think. You know, Kofi, your shoulder is real comfy."

"Uh, okay, Punk. Just don't drool on me, man."

_You actually remembered your itinerary! I'm surprised. When's your flight get in? - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 03:58_

_My flight back gets in at 20:45, should be back after 23:00. Will you be there? - sent 04:02_

_I'll be there. I need you too, Phil. - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 04:04_

_HOW IN THE FUCK HAVE YOU STILL NOT SORTED THIS FUCKING SHIT OUT! ARE YOU TWO CHILDREN? YOURE NOT TOO BIG TO GO OVER MY KNEE! - Papa Ace 04:46_

_Ace, that's just disturbing. - sent 05:34_

_PUNK IF YOURE GOING TO ACT LIKE CHILDREN I WHOOP YOUR ASSES LIKE CHILDREN - Papa Ace 06:50_

_Look, Ace, this is a complicated situation. You don't know what's going on, stay out of it. - sent 08:01_

_PUNK IT UPSETS YOU IT UPSETS COLT ITS MY BUSINESS EVEN IF YOU DONT LIKE IT! - Papa Ace 10:56_

_I don't. There's nothing you can do so stay out of it. - sent 15:40_

_WHAT HAPPENED? - Papa Ace - 15:59_

_Nothing. - Sent 16:05_

_NOTHING HELLVA LOT OF FUCKING AROUND FOR NOTHING - Papa Ace 16:22_

_Nothing I want to talk about. Look, something will be sorted when I'm back home, okay. GTS, Old Man and learn how to switch off the caps. - sent 16:36_

_It better be sorted when you're home, Punk because if it's not ALL YOURE EVER GONNA SEE IS CAPS! UNDERSTAND! - Papa Ace 16:40_

_Does Ace shout at you in texts too? - sent 16:46_

_It is shouting?! I just thought he couldn't work his cell, huh. - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 16:53_

_How's Oz? You met any koalas yet? - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 17:32_

_It's hot. All quiet on the koala front. I'll keep you posted though. - sent 22:58_

_Good, good. Punk, get some sleep, okay? - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 00:59_

Your idiot, he gives good advice, doesn't he? It's a shame you've not slept a wink though, Sir Punk.

Go away; I like you a lot better when you're just a voice in my head.

Well sleep and you'll stop seeing things, it's rather simple, Sir Punk.

I _can't_.

Why?

I can't sleep without it.

What?

The blanket, alright, that fucking blanket, it's all I have of us, it's all I have and I forgot it and now I can't sleep because I am a fucking mess and it's my fault and he'll be expecting me to make a decision whilst I'm here and I can't even fucking sleep! How the fuck am I supposed to fucking decide anything when I'm going fucking crazy?

Well, that is a problem, isn't Sir Punk?

"Fuck." The blanket? I left it upstairs, I know I did, I left it instead of that fucking stupid itinerary. He was here. He was here and this is it. He's done with this, done with me, with _us_.

Symbolic dumping via blanket? Original, I'll give him that.

He wouldn't do that, he'd tell me, he'd say it to my face, he wouldn't do it like this, this is not _Colt_, he'd... Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.

Hey, at least you have the blanket, maybe you'll get a couple of naps in, every now and then at least.

Shut up, shut up and go away.

Sleep and I'll be the nice, friendly voice in your head instead of the flicker at the corner of your eye, you lunatic.

"Hey." Colt?

"Hi." Thank fuck, don't let me go, please don't let me go; I think I'm falling apart.

Sir Punk, perhaps you should stop sleeping on him and go to bed.

"Tired." You think he'll stay if I ask him to?

Well, no harm in asking I suppose, Sir Punk.

"Bed?" Yes but shower is more important, I stink.

"Shower, won't be long." I really wish I'd stop shaking, it's weird.

Not enough sleep, Sir Punk.

"You staying?" _Please _say yes, I can't nap without a little bit of you with me. If you stay with me, I'll sleep all night and I _need_ that, I need it _so_ bad.

"Not sure it would be responsible to let you shower alone. Did you sleep at all?"

"Course."

Liar, liar, pants on fire, Sir Punk.

"What you think of the place?"

"It's, it's big, expensive, nice." It's too big, too expensive, too empty, I know that's what you're thinking, Colt. "You didn't sleep a wink." Not exactly, I guess.

Or at all, Sir Punk. I'm sure I'd be a lot less _here_ if you actually slept more than a couple of hours here and there, when you passed out.

"Shower in the morning."

"Dirty."

In so many ways, hmm, Sir Punk?

"This one." Bed's in here.

"You want me to stay or go home? We need to talk but you're in no shape for it." NO! Don't go, don't leave me.

"Stay with me. _Please_."

"I'm not going anywhere. Move over."

Ah, look at him go, tucking you in, wrapping you up, all safe and sound.

Shut up, I just want to lay here, to feel him holding me, I missed him, leave me alone and let me have this in peace.

"I'll be right here in the morning." You better be. You _have_ to be, I _need_ to talk to you before I really do go crazy.

A little late for that, Sir Punk.

"G'night Colt." Don't let me go, okay? Please just, don't let me go, stay with me, we have to sort this out so _don't_ let go.

"G'night Punkers."

* * *

**littleone1389**: A long road... maybe, well 14/15 chapters depending on where we get to with endings.

**InYourHonour**: Thank you! :3 I'm beyond happy to have you along for the ride! :D

**alizabethianrose**: Well, I was productive Saturday, apparently hangovers make me write faster. So feel free to encourage people to take me out to dinner and get me drunk instead! It'll be cheaper than chartering a plane! :D

**adg888**: Oh definitely continuing this one, I couldn't leave it with the ending of Crater hanging over them! Glad you back! :D

**__****BadgerLynn**: Ha, I am glad it didn't suck! :3 More traditional love story... kind of, sort of, well as close as these two procrastinators can manage anyways. ;)

_Okay, so I KNOW Punk is all kinds of off here, feel free to be critical, people! I think I enjoyed writing crazy insomniac Punk more than I should of to be honest. (also why does this site hate me having line breaks? I play with the layout and it's all nope, not saving that and the at sign ha! What at sign?)_

_I hope you enjoyed it! As ever, comments, criticisms, thoughts, random observations and reviews are all welcomed and encouraged!_

**_As such: Please leave a review, even if it's just "Hey, that didn't suck", I'd be so far and beyond grateful. Heck even if you thought it did suck, tell me too, something is better than nothing after all. :D First time reviewer? Don't be shy! I'm nice, honest(!), no matter what you think, your thoughts are important to me. :3_**


	3. Paleogene: Eocene

_Colt chapter: 2nd person PoV Warnings: Slash, Profanity._

* * *

You wake up to an empty bed, the blanket pulled up over your body. You lie staring up at his ceiling, carefully not thinking, carefully keeping your mind as blank as possible. The pillow beneath your head smells of him, the comforter under your body smells of him, you feel like you're wrapped up in his scent. He shuffles into the room some time later, towel around his waist.

"Hey." You say, his head snaps round, his eyes wide, startled.

"Didn't mean to wake you." He yawns. "Still tired." You get off the bed, strip down to underwear and pull back the comforter.

"C'mere." You say getting onto the bed, holding your arms out to him. He nods and pulls on some boxers. He comes to you, pulls the covers up and rests against your chest. His skin is still slightly damp, his hair almost wet. "Go to sleep, Punk." You tell him softly, stroking his hair. He's out without saying a word, his breathing soft and regular. It makes you think of nights long ago, before sex really became the cornerstone of your relationship, nights when all you were was a pillow for his too tired body. It shouldn't be comforting to you that he still falls asleep so easily in your arms and yet, that he still feels safe enough with you to fall asleep so quickly makes you feel far happier than you think it should.

The next time you wake up, you can feel his fingers stroking your chest softly, his breath warm on your skin.

"Hungry?" He asks you.

"I could eat." You tilt his face up to look at you, stroking his cheek as he meets your eyes.

"Want me to cook? Or we could get take out or go somewhere or-"

"Punkers." You pull him up to you and kiss him. He responds so very timidly, like he's scared you'll push him away. When you pull back, he chases you, kisses you more ardently, it feels almost like in the airport bathroom, only mingled in with his passion is something else, something that feels almost sad.

"So, food?" He smiles slightly at you; a timid, weary little expression and you smile back at him, something bright, something cheerful and happy. You want this misery wiped from him, you want him to _smile _at you, you want him to smile _your smile_ at you, slowly it bleeds over his lips and you kiss him again.

"Feed me."

It's a little known facet of his personality but he is a surprisingly decent cook. Nothing too fancy but infinitely better than you are, at any rate. You have an odd fondness for watching him in the kitchen, his attention caught by pots and pans. It feels homely, makes you think of the times you'd sit in your parents' kitchen and watch your mother making dinner, whilst you were supposed to doing homework. You thank him when he sets a plate down in front of you and eat without really tasting any of it, instead you're watching him pick at his own food, his eyes, as they dart up to look at you every so often.

"We should talk." He says, pushing his plate away and taking a long drink of coffee.

"Here?" You ask him, finishing your food and studying him, he's hunched over his mug of coffee, staring at it like it holds the secrets of the universe.

"I, no, no, the kitchen isn't really the place, huh?" He smirks up at you and you smile back.

"You gonna finish that, Punkers?" You gesture at the plate. He nods and takes back up his fork, eating slowly as you start washing up. Your mother always stressed being a good houseguest to you. He sets his plate down on the counter by the sink and starts drying the dishes, moving around behind you, putting crockery and cutlery away in their designated spots. You wonder briefly if you'll ever learn where they are supposed to go, if knowing which cupboard he keeps his plates in, will ever be important. Once you're finished, he goes to the lounge, sits on the large sofa facing the window and stares out of it. You take an armchair; if you're going to talk, it probably should be with distance between you.

"So?" He doesn't look at you.

"What are you doing?" You ask him softly, staring at his profile.

"I told you. What I said at the airport, it's true. I don't know." He sounds tired, worn out, like you should abandon this talking and take him back to bed.

"July seventeenth?" You try a different question.

"My contract is up." His voice takes a more clipped tone, his eyes not moving from the window.

"And you don't know what you're doing? Punk, that's _so_ close." You can't believe that he would put off making such a big decision for so long, it really isn't like him, he's decisive, determined, he makes decisions, usually at least.

"I've had a lot on my mind." He laughs softly and shakes his head.

"I'm sorry." You turn to look out of the window too, feel his eyes on you but you don't look away from the view.

"It's my fault." He sounds so very close to bitter.

"No, well, yes but not only you. We both fucked up." You turn to look at him, meet his eyes.

"We did? I guess." He sighs, soft and tired, you nod, guarded but firm.

"_We_ did, _we_ fucked up. I know you, Punk and I'm sorry. I know how hard it's been for you to get where you are." You turn from him again, looking back out of the window.

"You were busy." His voice is soft, small, you have to strain to hear him, You glance over at him, trying to catch his eye but he's turned back to the window. This is beginning to feel like when you were in High School, trying to catch a glimpse of your crush before they noticed.

"I was but so were you and you found time to text me." You remember the text that you put off replying to for far too long, remember staring at how plain and simple _I love you _looked, how that single phrase had felt so overwhelming at that moment. It had thrown you because until they moved you to Florida, you had been so certain of your feelings, so certain you loved him but then distance crept in and there are some beautiful women in Florida, _busy _can cover a multitude of sins. You never slept with one of them but you looked, you thought about it, you went out on what you suppose were dates, you played the part of Indy wrestler making it to the big leagues, as best you could and you let him slide farther and farther away from you. When he's hurt, when he's worried, when he's scared, he shuts himself off everyone around him but you, you're sure he even shuts off his own emotions, own reason and tries to avoid thinking of anything, until he's forced to, until it all gets too much and you know that you let it get too much, you let it overwhelm him. His fuck up was a reaction to your own.

"I did but that doesn't change the fact, I let someone else fuck me." He's almost glaring out of the window, his arms wrapped around himself and all you can think is at least now you know, you were the first to fuck him and Hardy was the second. You're not sure what to say to now really, you've thought about it so much, have rationalised it so very carefully that putting it into words is difficult. How do you explain that you understand why he had sex with someone else, you get the why and the how and really you're not sure if there's anything to forgive anymore. He fucked someone else, it's something that happened but it's nothing, not really. It burned at the time, the idea of someone else touching him, makes you furious still but that anger isn't directed at him, it's all pointed back at yourself, you failed to look after him so he reacted with misguided stupidity.

"I know. You had sex with someone else, I let you down. We both fucked up." You watch him carefully; watch his thumbs stroking his biceps. "Comparing notes on who fucked up worse, isn't gonna help us, Punk." He looks at you, eyebrows knit in confusion.

"So, where does that leave us?" That's the problem isn't it? That has always been the problem, where do you stand now, you fucked up in the first place, you continued fucking up by instigating the _arrangement_ and now you're here, terrified of fucking up even more.

"I don't know." You shake your head and sigh.

"Makes two of us!" He laughs, it sounds slightly mad, like bathroom-Punk might be making his return. You smile slightly at him, chuckling softly. "I spent a lot of time in Australia thinking."

"Well, you _had_ to be doing something, you sure as hell weren't sleeping, Punkers." You're aiming for jovial and wry, when all he does is smile softly, you think you managed it.

"I know what I want from this, I know what I need from you, Colt _but_." There's always a _but_ you think, if he knows what he needs, knows what he wants, why won't he just say?

"But what?" You ask him, getting off the armchair and sitting beside him, cupping his cheek, stroking the skin beneath one eye.

"I need you to know what you want, what you need." He turns his face, nuzzles against your palm and looks at you, his gaze unwaveringly soft. "I need for you to make a decision, Colt. What do you want from me?" You feel a frown forming on your lips, you can't decide anything without know what he needs first.

"Tell me what you want from me." You say softly, moving your hand into his hair.

"No, what _you_ want, Colt. Not what I want, not what I need, not what you think I need, not what you think I want. In fact, forget me entirely and think about you. What do you want?" You stare at him, what do you want? What do you need? You've no idea, not really, everything you've wanted from this relationship, everything you've needed from it, has always been so bound up in his happiness. It started because he needed to rest, it continued because you liked being able to give that to him. It developed because he kissed you, _that_ continued because it made him happy, it felt good for you too but your part in this has always been very much following along behind him. He's the comet; you're the tail, that's how this works.

"Punkers, just tell me, tell me and I'll know what we need to be together." He shakes his head, moves away from you.

"In Oz, I realised something. I take and I take and I take from you, Colt."

"I gi-"

"I take because you let me. You let me share your bed, you let me kiss you, you let me have the _arrangement_. It's time _I let you_ have something." He smiles softly. "I need to decide what I'm doing with the WWE, that's mine, that's on me but this." He takes one of your hands and cradles it in both of his, rests it against his chest, over his heart. "This is yours." You shake your head, you don't want it, you can't make this decision. There's a part of you that is laughing at the rest of you, the part that warned you that he'd decide to not decide.

"Punk, I can't. I can't be responsible for this." You draw him closer to you, gently resting your forehead against his. "What if I make the wrong choice, what if I fuck this up, what if-"

"There's no wrong choice, Colt. Be selfish for once." He laughs softly, leaning his weight against you, forcing you back against the arm of the sofa, squirming to rest his head on your chest. "I know what I want, Colt." Your hands are shaking as you run them up and down his back.

"Then tell me." You feel him shake his head. You sigh, take a deep breath, the scent of his shampoo filling your nostrils. "Okay, what I want?" You close your eyes firmly; concentrate on the feeling of his body in your arms. "You have till July seventeenth, right?"

"Yup." He nods, twisting so that he's leaning over you, looking down at you with your kitten fluff soft smile on his lips. For all you love your city, for all you think it's beautiful, you're certain there is no single sight, in the World, you love more than that smile.

"Gimme till the eighteenth." You pull him down to you; brush your nose over his.

"Why you get an extra day?" He mutters softly, mimicking your actions, your smile still on his lips.

"You've had months to think about this." You kiss him, a little, light peck.

"So have you." His protest is soft; his lips close to your own.

"Was waiting for you." You tell him, closing the gap between you, kissing him, deep and slow.

"Well." He says softly, turning to lie on his back, his head against your chest. "The shoe is on the other foot." He sounds so very _slightly_ smug. You wrap your arms around him and turn to look out of the window, stroking his stomach gently, keeping your mind purposefully blank. Thinking never works out so well for you, after all.

"I suppose it is.

* * *

**littleone1389**: Well this talk, I think it went a little better than the first one! :3 Will it stop Ace shouting at people, that's a different matter but at least they talked and shared and other stuff... right?

******adg888**: Ah, well I am glad for your continued presence! :D I would so not recommend having a Life... they are hard work and generally assholes! :3

**alizabethianrose**: No, it is very much NOT good to hallucinate, especially when it's Life you're seeing... See one chapter, I gets hockey Punk now? :3

_So in a fit of actually making a decision, Punk fobbed the future of their relationship off on Colt... and they had a proper sit down grown up conversation, I'm so proud of them..._

_I hope you enjoyed it! As ever, comments, criticisms, thoughts, random observations and reviews are all welcomed and encouraged!_

**_As such: Please leave a review, even if it's just "Hey, that didn't suck", I'd be so far and beyond grateful. Heck even if you thought it did suck, tell me too, something is better than nothing after all. :D First time reviewer? Don't be shy! I'm nice, honest(!), no matter what you think, your thoughts are important to me. :3_**


	4. Collar and Elbow Tie-Up

_Punk chapter: 1 person PoV Warnings: Slash, Profanity._

* * *

I'm awake. No hallucinations, no voice in my head, I'm awake and alone for the first time in forever. Well not alone. Colt's here, actually, really fucking here. His arms around me, his fingers in my hair, his chest beneath my head, his heartbeat in my ear. He's actually, really fucking here. And I've not showered since I was in Australia; I stink but Colt's here! And grumbling about me getting out of bed.

"_Shh, shh, go back to sleep, I'll be back soon._" Tuck you in all nice and warm and safe and _here_!

I actually think I prefer Life, I'm kind of annoying. Shower, Punker, get washed and get your ass back to bed, back to Colt. He's here, he's here, he held me for as long as I was asleep and he's still here!

Dressed, quietly, quickly, back to bed bef-

"Hey." Opps.

"Didn't mean to wake you, still tired."

"C'mere." Yes! "Go to sleep, Punk." Yes!

"Hungry?" I should be a good host but I don't want to move. We get out of this bed, we're gonna have to _talk_.

"I could eat." I missed that stupid _morning Punkers_ smile of yours, maybe I should mention that.

"Want me to cook? Or we could get take out or go somewhere or-"

"Punkers." Morning kisses, those are better than smiles though.

"So, food?" Good host, Punker, good host!

"Feed me."

This is weird, really I shouldn't like cooking for you this much, you know that right, Colt? I shouldn't like knowing you're watching me so closely, watching me with this little smile on your face like you're picturing this being home. Maybe it could be, I don't know, I am shutting up and cooking and eating.

"We should talk."

"Here?" That was not quite, what I wanted to do.

"I, no, no, the kitchen isn't really the place, huh?"

"You gonna finish that, Punkers?" Eating and drying the dishes and _talking_. Oh fuck, I don't want to do the _talking_. Why are you sitting so far from me? This is gonna hurt, isn't it? Okay, sooner we pull the band-aid off, the better.

"So?" My much-lauded eloquence, nice to see that hasn't been affected by my minor brush with insanity.

"What are you doing?" What am I doing? Sitting on the couch, looking out of the window, waiting to get this over with, waiting to see what happens.

"I told you. What I said at the airport, it's true. I don't know." I don't, I really don't and I know I should, I really should and yet.

"July seventeenth?" Ah! I was waiting for that!

"My contract is up." Finished, finito, ended, over, defunct, no longer in effect, expired, deceased, dead, pushing up the daises, pining for the fjords. Wait, that's not what I mean.

"And you don't know what you're doing? Punk, that's _so_ close." It is, isn't it?

"I've had a lot on my mind." On, in, outside of, around, above, below. I think I went more crazy than is good for me, I think I'm still _far_ too close to the edge, Colt.

"I'm sorry." What? Why? You didn't do anything!

"It's my fault." I own that.

"No, well, yes but not only you. We both fucked up." Don't look at me like that, don't look so hopeless, aren't you supposed to be the happy-go-lucky one? Aren't you supposed to be the one looking on the Brightside? You want to share the blame? I guess, I suppose, maybe, you could have called me, texted me, written, something.

"We did? I guess." Some of us, more than others, I know.

"_We_ did, _we_ fucked up. I know you, Punk and I'm sorry." You're sorry you even know me? "I know how hard it's been for you to get where you are." _Look_ at me! Look at me and tell me what you're trying to say. What is the point in this? I told you everything about Hardy; I would have told you everything about how fucking miserable I am in the WWE, _if_ you'd asked.

"You were busy." I understand, I do, I did but I just wanted _something_ from you, Colt, something to show I wasn't clinging to the ghost of something already gone. I still want it, that something so I know; I'm not just deadweight to you.

"I was but so were you and you found time to text me." You know, if I hadn't we wouldn't be here. That's the first fuck-up really, that I'm too fucking needy, too much of a girl, too fucking _weak_ to stand on my own two feet.

"I did but that doesn't change the fact, I let someone else fuck me." Uh, Life? That's your cue. I guess, sleeping properly, even if only for the night, really does get rid of the voices in my head.

"I know. You had sex with someone else, I let you down. We both fucked up." I fucked up, this is mine, you can dress it up however you want but it won't change facts, Colt. "Comparing notes on who fucked up worse, isn't gonna help us, Punk." I guess.

"So, where does that leave us?" What are we? I kissed you in that bathroom and you _kissed_ me back. I know you love me, I could feel it, I _know_ I could but you seem so lost to me, right now. We're both so fucking lost and adrift in my stupidity.

"I don't know."

"Makes two of us!" Ha! Great, the blind leading the blind! Alls we need is to have a threesome with a one-eyed man. "I spent a lot of time in Australia thinking."

"Well, you _had_ to be doing something, you sure as hell weren't sleeping, Punkers." Thinking whilst being _slightly_ insane might not have been a great idea, though, to be honest.

"I know what I want from this, I know what I need from you, Colt _but_." Come here, touch me.

"But what?" Huh, who knew I was a telepath. I've needed you to touch me like this, have needed it for so long. Focus, Punker, say what you need to say, snuggle, manfully, later.

"I need you to know what you want, what you need. I need for you to make a decision, Colt. What do you want from me?" It's a simple question, Colt; don't look so fucking sad about it.

"Tell me what you want from me." Cheater.

"No, what _you_ want, Colt. Not what I want, not what I need, not what you think I need, not what you think I want. In fact, forget me entirely and think about you. What do you want?" Take charge. _Stop_ trailing along behind me, Colt. Right now, we're apart, we're so far apart, professionally and personally. And every time you _fuck_ me, it's like you're pulling farther and farther away, I don't know how to keep you close. I don't even know what I'm doing; I can't plan for what you might do too. I need you to do this. Forget what I want for a change. Catering to me, that's why we're here, tiptoeing through the broken shards of _us_. I need for you to pick the path, Colt, alls I'm doing is shredding our feet.

"Punkers, just tell me, tell me and I'll know what we need to be together." Tell you? No, I'm not telling you, this is on you, it has to be.

"In Oz, I realised something. I take and I take and I take from you, Colt."

"I gi-" NO!

"I take because you let me. You let me share your bed, you let me kiss you, you let me have the _arrangement_. It's time _I let you_ have something." You need to take charge of this mess, I'm not capable. Stop letting me be in charge! We've seen what happens when I get to be in charge, it's not good. "I need to decide what I'm doing with the WWE, that's mine, that's on me but this." This decision, our future. "This is yours." Everything, it's yours, if you want it but no matter how you decide, no matter what you pick, I'm yours, even if you _don't_ want it.

"Punk, I can't. I can't be responsible for this." You have to be, I can't do it, I'll break it. "What if I make the wrong choice, what if I fuck this up, what if-"

"There's no wrong choice, Colt." _Liar, liar, Mr Punk, liar, liar_. Great, now I'm imagining the imaginary voice in my head. See, this is what not having you has done to me, Colt. I can't not have you again. "Be selfish for once." Only, just, make the _right _decision, Colt. Don't let me go; I'm not sure I could take that. "I know what I want, Colt." I do, I'm surprised but I really do. I love you, I want you, I want you to want me, to love me.

"Then tell me." No, I don't get out of making decisions, neither do you, Colt. You need to be the one to choose "Okay, what I want? You have till July seventeenth, right?" Big boy pants? I'm so proud.

"Yup."

"Gimme till the eighteenth." What?

"Why you get an extra day?" Why do you need another day? You not going to decide until I do?

"You've had months to think about this." Colt, please, don't be doing what I think you are.

"So have you." Make a choice, Colt. _Please_, make a choice.

"Was waiting for you." Then stop it! You're still waiting for me, aren't you? What I decide, it still makes this decision, doesn't it?

"Well, the shoe is on the other foot." Oh fuck, please let it be on the other foot, I can't, I can't do this. I'll fuck it up, I _know _I will.

"I suppose it is." Only it's not, is it?

Probably not, Mr Punk, probably not.

* * *

**********adg888**: Colt's decision will be made next chapter, the right choice... _maybe_.

**bitter-alisa: **July 18th... it is a long, long time to screw things up, isn't it... I am glad that this talk was more mature too! :)

**alizabethianrose**: I'm so guilty of forgetting Colt and focussing on Punk too! It'd be interesting to write something more Colt-centric too...

**littleone1389**: Well, Colt will make his decision and hopefully it won't be too long to wait for the next chapter! :3

_I hope you enjoyed it! As ever, comments, criticisms, thoughts, random observations and reviews are all welcomed and encouraged!_

**_As such: Please leave a review, even if it's just "Hey, that didn't suck", I'd be so far and beyond grateful. Heck even if you thought it did suck, tell me too, something is better than nothing after all. :D First time reviewer? Don't be shy! I'm nice, honest(!), no matter what you think, your thoughts are important to me. :3_**


	5. Paleogene: Oligocene

_Colt chapter: 2nd person PoV Warnings: Slash, Smut, Profanity._

* * *

You can't help but wish that you had your own calendar with a big-ringed date on it, some kind of physical reminder that you really have to make a decision, something to stop you from having a kneejerk reaction to whatever it is he decides. You've spent a lot time thinking about what he said and maybe he's right, maybe you do trail in his wake far too often but you're comfortable in his wake. Comfortable is something, you think, you should stop being. You need to make some kind of definitive choice and follow it through but then again, what you decide will be influence by what he does, the two things aren't separate, they can't be. It takes time but you get the decision narrowed down to two choice. This road is coming to a fork, what he decides makes the choice on which route you take.

"Present." He stands in front of your door, a soft little half-smile on his lips, holding out a ticket for the Pay per View. You've not seen him since you left his place the day after he got back. You claimed you needed space to think and honestly, it was the truth. You don't think well when he's there, your mind gets fixated on him and if this is to be a selfish decision, you needed space.

"C'mere." You wrap your hand around the back of his neck and drag him in, kick the door shut and kiss him thoroughly. Your hands move over his back, from his shoulder blades down to his ass, stroking, groping, affirming to yourself that you're allowed to do this. He responds all soft and pliant, his body pressing against your own, his hands following an opposite path, trailing up your back until they end up tangled in your hair. When you part from the kiss, he chases your lips, unwilling to let you go. His hands pull you back to him, desperation colouring his actions, like he's scared of you getting too far from him. You concede to his desperation and kiss him again, several more times, pressing him back against your front door. Eventually, you part and he doesn't chase after you, instead he lets his head flop back against the door.

"Hi." He sounds quietly happy, his eyes and tone filled with something softly content.

"You shaved?" It's the first time, in a long time; you've seen him without some kind of something on his jaw, no stubble, no scruff, no beard, just skin, soft and smooth.

"Uh-huh." He nods, eyes narrowing slightly. "You like it?" He asks still looking at you slightly critically, like he's evaluating you.

"Hmm, dunno, looks..." You trail off; you're really not used to seeing him clean-shaven. "It's not bad." You settle on because it isn't, just odd and unfamiliar.

"New start, new look, right?" You raise an eyebrow at him and he shakes his head.

"I guess so." You start walking to the lounge, his hand in yours, when you feel a tug. He stoops to pick up the ticket and taps it against your chest.

"Ringside for my match, nosebleeds for everything else, you know how they work." He sounds mildly contemptuous. You think perhaps you can guess at his decision now but you're not going to, you've guessed and second guessed him before and that's why your _relationship_ is the way it is. Wait and see, there's a fork in the road, you know what you have to do based on which way he goes.

"Just me?" You ask him as you set the ticket down on the coffee table and flop onto the sofa, pulling him with you. He kicks his shoes off and curls up beside you, his head on your shoulder.

"Ace too." There's a part of you that's very glad that you've not seen Ace in a long time. His texts are getting harsher, the longer this whole mess goes on. When Punk showed you the one where he threatened to spank you both, you couldn't quite suppress the belief that he would if he thought it would work.

"Goody." You mutter dryly, stroking his shoulder and kissing his hair. "You on last?" You feel him nod and can't keep the smile from your face. "You made a choice yet?" You probably shouldn't ask him that and when all he does is give a nervous chuckle, you have to hold the urge to smack him on the back of the head back. "Punk." He sighs and squirms out from under your arm, putting his shoes back on.

"I should go." He stands in front of you, eyes trained on yours, something heavy and dark in them. "I need to get ready. You will." He pauses, looks away with a sigh. You stand and hold him close.

"I'll be there, don't worry. Whatever you decide, it's okay. There' no wrong choice, Punkers." You squeeze him tightly and wish you could believe your own words. There is _always_ a wrong choice, you're just not sure which one of you is going to make it this time. Having spent so much time thinking over your _relationship_, you've concluded it's been one long series of terrible, stupid choices that culminated in the _arrangement_. It would be an actual surprise if one of you managed to choose the right thing first time.

The atmosphere was insane; it felt like being in the Thunderdome. When his music hit it was like being assaulted, in that moment he was a god and this crowd were his followers, the wall of hate thrown at Cena made you smirk. Punk standing close enough for you to touch, grinning and laughing as you pointed out to Cena, that Chicago was in no way his town. The match was good, better than good, excellent, probably his next five star one. Yet it's the ending that sticks with you, when he sat on the barricade opposite you and blew a kiss, presumably to McMahon but his eyes, they were on you. You knew his decision only then, as you watched him mimic how he went out of ROH, only on a much grander scale, it was a very different feeling inside you to then. Back then, you'd be hopeful for the future, he was off into the unknown, you'd really only just repaired your relationship, you'd told him you loved him for the first time, you'd been able to call him yours. This time though, you have no idea how you feel, none at all.

You celebrate his victory, laughing and joking and fooling everyone but Ace, who keeps glaring at you both, with narrowed eyes and a short fuse. You desperately hope he doesn't order you both to do squats until you've got this _mess_ sorted because you know you'd do as ordered and you're certain that the fear of Ace is something Punkers has never recovered from either.

"Come home with me?" He says, once everyone else is gone. You find yourself nodding, walking close beside him, feeling his body heat, as he leads the way to his place. Once inside and the door locked, shoes and coats are abandoned. He wanders through to the kitchen and sticks the belt in the fridge.

"The fuck?" You ask him, you had thought he was over any residual madness.

"Championship is on ice, isn't it?" He laughs. "And this is probably the most secure place in the damn house." He shrugs and shuts the door after taking a picture and posting it. "So?" He turns to you, a lazy soft smile on his lips. You pull him close and kiss him, fast and firm, hands groping at him, one squeezing his ass, the other messing up his hair. "Bed?" He gasps when you let him pull back. You nod, kiss him once more and lead him upstairs, his hand in your own.

"C'mere." You mutter once you're in his bedroom, you pull him close to you and yank his shirt over his head, kissing his neck and shoulders before the fabric has hit the floor. "You have-"

"Uh-huh, yeah, drawer." He nods as you let him go, he strips quickly and goes to grab the lube from the drawer, you shed your own clothes and stare at him. He's looking pensively at you, the bottle in his hand. "You sure?" He asks, eyes downtrodden, you grin at him, bright and happy.

"Celebrating, right?" He laughs but the expression in his eyes doesn't lighten. "I'm sure but are you?" You step closer to him, cup his cheek and watch as he turns his face to press a kiss to your palm.

"I." He sighs and nods. "I'm sure." You slide your hand into his hair, rubbing at his scalp gently.

"I'm proud of you." You tell him softly. "So fucking proud, okay?" He nods, his eyes still far from happy. You kiss him, slow and careful, the only point of contact your lips and the one hand in his hair. When you eventually make it to his bed, he's softly panting and breathless from the gentle kisses and careful strokes you given his cock. You're in a similar state, his hand around your dick, you'd almost forgotten how good that feels, how he knows exactly how to touch you to turn you on. You prep him slowly, your lube coated fingers, opening him up carefully, relishing the tightness of his body. Your other hand never straying too far from his face and hair, caressing him like he was glass.

"Colt." Your name is a soft little plea from him and you enter him slowly, carefully, easing inside of him, feeling every pulse and ripple of him around you, his legs wrapping around your waist. Once you're as deep as you can possibly get, he kisses you, his hands holding your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks. When he's ready, he nods at you slightly and you move with slow fluid thrusts, taking him with practiced ease, vague memories of hotel rooms up and down the country being replaced with this one night, this one return to how it was so long ago. It's comfortable, familiar in its gentility, it feels so much like how it should be and yet somehow strange, his eyes are still slightly mournful, for all the love you can see in them, there's something else there, something that calls to you, calls for you to soothe him. You take him in your hand and stroke him in time with your thrusts, his breathing speeds up, his hands pulling you back down to him, his lips demandingly soft as he kisses you. His orgasm hits him, leaving him a mildly quivering wreck in your arms and you speed up a little, coming inside of his body, his hands on your face, his eyes holding yours, the expression in them soft, tinged with sadness yet full of love.

"I love you." You whisper, you've _never_ meant that phrase more than now, you do love him, more than is entirely reasonable, more than is sane, more than is good for either of you. He smiles your smile and nods, then yawns, one hand covering his mouth.

"Good." You can't help but smile back at him.

"Idiot." You pull out of him and lay on your back, letting him settle himself on top of you, head on your chest, your arms around him, comfortable, familiar. "G'night Punkers." You mutter, kissing his damp hair.

"I love you too, you know that right? You _do_ know just _how_ much I love you?" He sounds deathly serious and you think perhaps you don't have the slightest inkling of the depth of his love for you. You make a softly affirmative noise and hear him murmur _good night_. You lie staring at the ceiling long after he's fallen asleep. You can't help but wonder if he knows what your decision is but you suppose this is something for the morning. A conversation to have tomorrow, July eighteenth, your Saturn of dates.

The morning is quiet, soft and gentle. You kiss him, shower with him, hold him close under the spray, running your hands over him, washing him even as he returns the favour. Breakfast is quick, rushed, the longer you say nothing, the more anxious to hear what you have to say he seems. You end up back in his lounge, back on the chair near the window, him on the sofa, looking pensive.

"So..." He sighs and looks at you.

"So?" You really don't want to have this conversation but it needs to be done, you need to do this for you both. "You've re-signed?" He nods but doesn't speak. "I made my decision." You try to keep strong in your decision.

"And?" Something in his eyes shifts; something behind them dies and at once is resurrected.

"That, this doesn't work, Punkers." You say softly, you can't look at him. "Distance, it's not good for us."

"Colt?" His voice is so painfully soft and you know this is going to have to be quick, your resolve is wavering.

"Friends." The fork in the road, that's where you have to split, he's going right and you, you have to go left. A relationship with the WWE between you won't, doesn't, work.

"_Friends_?" You nod.

"Anything else between us won't work. If you're on the road and I'm fuck knows where, it just can't. We've tried that before and it fell apart so this is the way it has to be." He stands from the sofa and goes over to the window.

"You cheated." He says softly. "You fucking cheated, waited till I made my choice, didn't you?" He sounds painfully far away.

"There were always two choices, Punkers."

"Punk." He snaps, sharp and hard, you frown slightly. "Just Punk. So we make a clean break?" You fidget in the chair, torn between going to him and staying seated.

"Clean break?" You ask him, eyes focussed on the back of his head. "Not likely. How the fuck can we have a clean break, Punk?" He turns to you, a wry little smirk on his face.

"You tell me." His arms are wrapped around himself; he looks so very small at that moment, curled in on himself, the sun behind him, making it impossible to see his eyes.

"I don't want to lose you; I don't _want_ to let you go."

"Then why are you?" He sounds pissed, so very angry.

"Because I can't keep you." You stand, stepping closer to him. "I can't keep you when you're so far from me." You wrap your arms around him. "I don't want to do this but as long as your there-"

"You're a fucking pussy." He snaps, his face against your neck. You squeeze him tightly.

"I know." It's true enough, you are a pussy, so afraid of hurting him but not able to be there for him when he needs a lover so you're taking the easier option of being his friend. It's safer for you both.

"Twenty fourteen." He says softly, still tense and bristling in your arms, his own still around himself.

"If you still want to." You get what he means, that's how long he's agreed to be theirs. Three years, not so long in the grand scheme of things, maybe long enough to realise that you both aren't right for each other, maybe long enough to realise that you are and that you've wasted half a lifetime playing kiss chase. He laughs softly.

"What about when I'm not theirs in between?" You don't quite understand what he means; he's theirs until his contract expires.

"What?" You ask him, trying very hard not to focus on the fact this could be, probably will be, the last time you hold him, that last night was the more than likely, the last time you'll ever make love to him, the last time you'll kiss him, is this morning. You're letting him go, this is your choice and as necessary as it feels, you don't want to.

"I'm free till I have to go back." He says softly, his arms sneak around your waist, his lips against your neck. "I'm supposed to be playing the rebel; I'm not theirs right now." You understand what he means, you really do and it's tempting, so very tempting.

"Punk." He pulls back slightly and looks at you.

"It's never going to be a clean break, you know that, right?" He laughs softly and sighs, resting his forehead against yours. "It's gonna fester, infect." He laughs again.

"I know. You think I don't know that?" You know, it's always going to be a wound but you can't wait for when one of you fucks up again because one of you will, it's the way you are. You're making the right choice, you're certain of this. Trying to balance work and a relationship in this business is difficult enough without taking the WWE's touring schedule into consideration, without considering the differences in paycheques and perks and the million other things that he'll be getting, that are consigned to your dreams. Resentment will creep in, you're no saint, you know this, so this is the way it has to be but his offer. He's not theirs right now, so he could be yours.

"If you know, then why?" He steps away from you, leans against the glass, arms folded across his chest.

"Because it won't work." You sigh and lean against it too, studying him.

"How do you know?" You laugh at him; really, he thinks the precedent hasn't been set?

"Because I know me." You carefully don't say us, this really is about you, you know you won't handle him being gone well, you'll let your second guessing keep you from being what he needs, _again_ and it would destroy whatever is left between you. "You told me to be selfish and I am. I won't be able to handle being with you whilst you're there." He looks away and nods.

"I see." You reach out to him, you're surprised when he comes to you, when he lets you hold him close, when his arms wrap around you.

"This isn't your fault, Punk. It's me, okay. My decision, there was always two, _always_, there had to be." He nods slightly. "What you chose, that was on you but..." You sigh and squeeze him. "There was a fork in the road, one where you stayed and where you didn't and what I did, that was always dependant on you but this is _my_ decision." He sighs softly, squeezes you tightly. "I have to let you go, you understand, right?" He nods and says nothing, holds you tightly, it feels like he's clinging to you and you want to recant every word you've said. He leans back from you suddenly, his hands cupping your face.

"I don't think we should talk for a while." He says softly, his eyes meet yours and you ache with the need to protect him from the pain in them. "_This_, I can't say it's what I wanted you to choose and I won't." He pauses, looks away, you turn his face back to you.

"I'm sorry." You think you sound pitifully small, like the hopeless squeak of some tiny animal; he nods and closes his eyes.

"I love you and I'm sorry too." He kisses you. If the airport bathroom kiss tasted of love and passion, of life and hope, then this kiss is its antithesis. You can feel his love for you, it burns bright and desperate but this feels like the end, this tastes of death and despair. This is a kiss goodbye and it hurts, a pain of your own doing and you want to it never end. You'd suffer for him forever, so long as he won't let you make this be your decision. The one hand around his waist holds him close, the other strokes his face, his hair, memorising the feeling of him in your arms. Your memory is terrible, headshots ensure that, but you know that there are two things you'll remember about this day, the pain of kissing him for the last time and how agonizingly beautiful he looked when you stopped. Your smile, shaded with misery, you've never seen him with such raw pain in his eyes. He looks broken but so beautiful. "You should go." He says as he steps away from you, away from the window, towards the kitchen door. You nod, not really trusting your voice.

"Do you want your key?" You remember the little thing on your chain and he shakes his head.

"_Friends_, have keys to each other's houses." He says softly, looking at something in your general direction but not _at_ you.

"Okay." You nod, you chance a glance at him, his arms wrapped around himself, eyes closed, head resting against the door job. Clean break, you think miserably, there was never any chance of that."Congratulations, Punk but maybe take the belt out of the fridge." He nods and you leave.

A clean break, as clean as possible at least.

* * *

**littleone1389**: Well, this is Colt's decision and well if it was the right or wrong one it's the one he's made...

******InYourHonour**: Everything has a not perfect but is ending... I honestly don't think I could do an unhappy ending, there's just some being idiots to go...

******adg888**: Sleep, the key to getting Punk to not second guess himself... Life's mortal enemy is a good night's kip! LoL

**alizabethianrose**: Uh... not quite as fast as you'd have liked but its here now. :3

_I hope you enjoyed it! As ever, comments, criticisms, thoughts, random observations and reviews are all welcomed and encouraged!_

**_As such: Please leave a review, even if it's just "Hey, that didn't suck", I'd be so far and beyond grateful. Heck even if you thought it did suck, tell me too, something is better than nothing after all. :D First time reviewer? Don't be shy! I'm nice, honest(!), no matter what you think, your thoughts are important to me. :3_**


	6. Clean Break

Punk chapter: 1 person PoV Warnings: Slash, Profanity_. **text like this**_is a date on Punk's calendar_ (text like this, i.e. in brackets and italics) _is dialogue from chapter 5 with Punk's thoughts to go along with it.

* * *

"You should go." Please just go, leave me alone, we're done here.

"Do you want your key?" No, no, I don't, just go.

"_Friends_, have keys to each other's houses." I have yours, you have mine and it doesn't matter, what use is a key? It doesn't mean anything, it doesn't matter. It's just a key to a place, this building doesn't mean much to me, I'm never here anyway. This place, it's somewhere to sleep, it's not my home.

"Okay." Don't sound so lost, don't sound so small, you're right, this is for the best, I understand that, I do. "Congratulations, Punk but maybe take the belt out of the fridge."

Thank you, I will. Now, please, just go.

Punk?

What?

You okay?

No.

_When do you want me back? - sent 11:09_

You're just going back to work? Punk, deal with this.

I am.

_("I won't be able to handle being with you whilst you're there." He doesn't trust me, that's okay, I don't trust me either. Once a cheat, always a cheat, right?)_

He won't be with me because I'm there, so I should be there. This is my bed; I have to lie in it.

Punk.

I know, okay? I _knew _long before now. I knew last night when he made love to me, treated me like I was glass, I knew that was it. I knew when I looked at him before I left the arena, when I sat on the barricade, I knew that was it. I could see it in his eyes then, I could taste it in his kiss now, I could feel it in the way he touched me all night.

_("My decision, there was always two, always, there had to be." A fork in the road, a decision, based on a decision, based on my own arrogance. You can't change anything from your couch but maybe I was looking to change the wrong thing when I made this choice, maybe I should have been looking to change the one thing that's more important to me than wrestling.)_

I get it, I understand. Two outcomes, two choices, two paths, I go right, he goes left, that's the way it has to be. I'm not reliable, no matter what he says, no matter how much he says this is his decision, that he knows himself, he knows me as well. I'm not a reliable _partner_. I'm too focussed on myself, my needs, my goals, what I want and I understand, I told him to be selfish.

_("You told me to be selfish and I am." Be selfish but don't let me go, be selfish but put me first. I'm a hypocrite, Colt. I want you to want me, the way I want you. I need you to need me ,the way I need you, only, you don't, you can't because you're stronger than me and I need that strength from you but I've got nothing to give you in return. I never wanted you to realise that but you finally have and now, now, I'm on my own.)_

And he is. He put on his big boy pants and made his decision and I _understand _that, I get it. He's done the right thing.

Don't mean you have to like it, Punk.

I don't but I have to deal with it. This is my life now, all that brave talk of working hurt, it's time to put it into practice, isn't it?

So?

So? I don't know.

_Next week? At Raw. - Vince McMahon 11:49_

_Fine. - sent 11:50_

Next, week, July twenty-fifth, I guess it can go on the calendar.

_**July twenty-fifth**_

_**Raw Hampton, VA.**_

_Two Champions? The fuck they playing at? - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 23:15_

_Come on, who doesn't like an undisputed Champion feud? - sent 23:36_

_I guess. Creative really need to live up to their name more though. - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 23:39_

_Well, if it were changed to Fucking Incompetent, they would be. - sent 23:44_

_Don't let them get to you. The marks were lapping it up, if nothing else. - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 23:47_

_And the WWE ALWAYS listens to the marks, right? - sent 23:56_

_**August fourteenth.**_

_**SummerSlam L.A**_

_What the fuck, Punk? - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 00:05_

_Creative. You know the under-sized internet darling can't be champion for long. - sent 00:09_

_But Nash? What the actual fuck? - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 00:13_

_OMG! KEVIN NASH?! WTF? Thought he was dead! LOL - Chaleen - 00:14_

_No, Chaleen. He's alive, very much alive and power bombing me. - sent 00:20_

_Come on, you think the Kliq isn't alive and well? - sent 00:22_

_FWD: OMG! KEVIN NASH?! WTF? Thought he was dead! LOL - sent 00:23_

_Chaleen? - Boom Boom Colt Cabana - 00:26_

_Who else? - sent 00:28_

_Use it! - Boom Boom Colt Cabana - 00:29_

_Aww! Poor Punker! I'll give you hug and some cookies when you're home! :3 Don't be gone too long, WE WORRY! :-* When are you home, oh brother of mine? - Chaleen 00:30_

_What? - send 00:31_

_Use it! In a promo, it'll be funny. - Boom Boom Colt Cabana -00:33_

_I might, it might work. - sent 00:40_

_I expect full credit and pizza as payment for the suggestion. When you home next, I'm going to collect! - Boom Boom Colt Cabana -00:43_

_I don't know. When I'm less busy, I'll let you know, okay? - sent 00:49_

_**September eighteenth.**_

_**N.o.C. Buffalo, N.Y.**_

"_Why the fuck are they booking you like this_?"

"Fucked if I know." Really, couldn't you have just texted me this question, I'm not ready to talk to you.

It's been two months now, Punk, time to get over this. He's your friend. _Friends_ talk to each other, you know, you have other friends, who you studiously ignore. Perhaps you're just incredibly bad with people?

"_Do they not know you're supposed to strike whilst the iron is hot_?"

"I guess Paul going over was more important than capitalising on all the money they could make off me?" I guess they don't trust me to carry their company. I guess, they don't think that I'm reliable either.

"_It's fucking stupid, Punk. You're the hottest thing they've got and all they're doing is pouring cold water on you! Seriously, what the fuck?_"

"If I knew, I'd tell you. Look, uh, thanks for calling. I've an early start tomorrow, I should get some sleep."

"_Oh, uh, sorry, I just... I'm sorry. I'll let you sleep. G'night Pu_-"

"Good night." _("G'night Punkers." Soft kisses to my hair, arms around me, holding me close, all safe, warm and loved.)_

You going to sleep some, Punk?

Maybe later, I'm not tired right now. I wanna get some work done on some promos and they want me to sign a bunch of shit and-

Let's face it Punk, you couldn't even if you tried.

I'm getting better at it; I'm managing a few hours a night. Fuck you, Life. I can work hurt, I've done it before, it's just a matter of adjusting to the injury.

How does one adjust to being gutted, Punk?

_**October thirty-first **_

_**Raw Atlanta GA.**_

"So if you had to pick a favourite Muppet who would it be?" Seriously Kofi?

"Uh... The Cookie Monster. What? You asked!" Don't look at me like that, he's the best one there is, who doesn't like the Cookie Monster?

"Not a Muppet." The fuck? He's a Jim Henson creation!

"He's on Sesame Street."

"_Exactly!_" See Muppet!

"So, Muppet." Screw you Kofi!

"Different show." Pedantic fucker, aren't you?

"Same company, same difference."

"Tell that to Wee Man." Yeah, yeah whatever. "Hey, Punk, man, you okay?"

"Uh-huh, why?" I'm fine, just tired, nothing to worry about here, Kofi. I'm coping, I'm dealing with this, it's hard but I'm getting there, I am.

You know, one day soon enough, we're going to be having another one of those empty chair staring contests if you don't get more sleep, Punk. Remember a problem shared, is a problem halved.

"You look _tired_ again, man. If you need it, I got two shoulders for you, man. Just no drooling, kay?"

"I'm fine, Kofi." Thank you for the weird offer though, I do appreciate it, even if it doesn't seem like it, I really do.

He's a good road-wife, isn't he, Punk?

He's a good friend but I'm not talking to him about this. This is my bed, I have to lie in it, my actions have caused this and I have to take responsibility for myself, I need to stand on my own two feet. I don't need Colt, well I do but I can't have him, not the way I want so I have to adapt.

_Nice shirt. - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 23:06_

Good luck with that, Punk.

_**November twentieth**_

_**S.S M.S.G **_

"Thank you, Mr Finkel, sir. It means so much to me that you agreed to do this for me." HOWARD FINKEL ANNOUCED ME! THE FINK! THE MOTHERFUCKING, GODDAMN, GENUINE, HALL OF FAMER, HOWARD, THE FINK, FINKEL!

"It's nothing, Punk, really. Thank you for asking me, it was my honour and my pleasure."

_HOLY SHIT PUNKERS! THE FINK! - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 23:01_

_I know! How awesome was that? - sent 23:03_

You're letting him away with _Punkers_? Really, Punk?

_("There were always two choices, Punkers." _

_"Punk, just Punk." I don't want that from you. I don't want to hear a name I associate with you loving me, when I know you can't, when you don't, when I'm too much hassle for you, when you're letting me go. Please Colt, please! Don't let me go.)_

_Incoming call_

_Boom Boom Colt Cabana_

_Accept Reject_

"Hello?"

"_Hey! I had to say congratulations properly. They gonna let you have a proper title reign this time?_"

"They have to."

"_Oh?_"

"Put it in my fucking contract, a proper fucking run with the ball, whether they like it or not."

"_Smart, Punkers-_"

"Punk!"

"_I... I'm sorry. I just... Well done. You looked good out there, okay. Maybe when you're in Chicago next we can... celebrate?_"

_("You sure?" This is it, isn't Colt? This is the last time you're gonna make love to me, the last time, I get to feel you inside of me, the last time we'll be together. Are you sure you want to do this? Are you sure, you're sure you want to end this? Are you sure you want this to be the last time?_

_"Celebrating, right?" Celebrating what though, my winning the title or everything we were, everything we weren't and everything we could have been?)_

"Celebrate? Yeah, sure, maybe."

* * *

**littleone1389**: They'll stumble somewhere anyway. You know me, I could _never_ bring myself to leave the boys unhappy for too long. :3

**********adg888**: I'm glad you're invested in them! I am too! :3 I hope this chapter continues you investment! :D

**alizabethianrose**: I don't mind being distracted with Amor in the least! I think honesty and actually being grown ups for a change is something these two have needed since about chapter three of Comet! LoL

_I hope you enjoyed it! As ever, comments, criticisms, thoughts, random observations and reviews are all welcomed and encouraged!_

**_As such: Please leave a review, even if it's just "Hey, that didn't suck", I'd be so far and beyond grateful. Heck even if you thought it did suck, tell me too, something is better than nothing after all. :D First time reviewer? Don't be shy! I'm nice, honest(!), no matter what you think, your thoughts are important to me. :3_**

_Also, if I may beg your indulgence and ask you to go check out **Amor Vincit Omnia **It's a little something that the lovely **alizabethianrose** has cooked up and let me be sous chef on, your thoughts on it would be greatly appreciated too._


	7. Neogene: Pleistocene

_Colt chapter: 2nd person PoV Warnings: Slash, Profanity._

* * *

A clean break. You keep reminding yourself of this as you walk home, back to your apartment at least because you're not sure _home_ is that place. Home is, perhaps, a state of mind rather than a physical location. Home is standing in its own place, wrapped around itself and you hope its okay because this was necessary, painful, brutally painful but necessary. You meant every word you said, this is you being selfish and selfless all at once, even if it doesn't seem that way, you are being selfless. There are stupid clichés you could insert here, if you love something let it go, we always hurt the ones we love, lots of trite phrases to describe your actions but the bottom line is you can't do long distance relationships. Past experience has proven this and so this is the only way to move forward. You have to adapt to survive, evolution is the only choice. You'll concede that perhaps you might have been able to work out something but sometimes what lies between you and him seems so very fundamentally destructive to both of you, that this might be for the best. It'll hurt for now but drawing a line in the sand, it's the best choice. You decided to not be comfortable and right now you're anything but comfortable.

You take his key from the chain on your pants, put it away in a drawer, leave it there and try to ignore it. However, when you have to leave your apartment to go to your next match, it comes with you, is added back to the key chain and you try to ignore the fact that when you're standing in queues over the next week, it's that one little key that you keep fussing with.

_Two Champions? The fuck they playing at? - sent 23:15_

You weren't sure why but you felt compelled to ask him, _friends_, you suppose, should ask these questions. It was your decision to go down this path, your decision and you have to make sure you follow through, you didn't want to lose him, didn't want to let him go but it was for the best.

_Come on, who doesn't like an undisputed Champion feud? - Punk 23:36_

_I guess. Creative really need to live up to their name more though. - sent 23:39_

_Well, if it were changed to Fucking Incompetent, they would be. - Punk 23:44_

_Don't let them get to you. The marks were lapping it up, if nothing else. - sent 23:47_

_And the WWE ALWAYS listens to the marks, right? - Punk 23:56_

It comes as a surprise that he replied, you'd expected him to ignore you again, retreading old ground but maybe he's come to the same conclusion, maybe he's realised that your _thing_ was flawed from the word go too and has decided to try and be mature about it all. You're torn between being happy that he's at least texting you back and being slightly, very so slightly, upset that he is, when he ignored you, it hurt but it left you in no doubt that he was hurting too. Not that you want him to be in pain but if he was, there's that chance he'd try harder to fight you on your decision and you'd kind of like to be fought on this. Time heals all wounds though, it's only been a week, of course, it still hurts. You've the rest of your life for it to stop hurting, unless he decides in three years that he's done with the WWE and wants to try again, third time's a charm after all. It should be more depressing than it is, that you have already decided that you'll wait. You've waited so long for him already that waiting a little more doesn't seem strange, it seems comfortable, normal. You remember telling yourself that comfortable is something you should avoid, that you make so many decisions based on what is comfortable but you aren't very good at thinking so you ignore yourself and focus on work instead.

_What the fuck, Punk? - sent 00:05_

_Creative. You know the under-sized internet darling can't be champion for long. - Punk 00:09_

_But Nash? What the actual fuck? - sent 00:13_

_Come on, you think the Kliq isn't alive and well? - Punk 00:22_

_FWD: OMG! KEVIN NASH?! WTF? Thought he was dead! LOL - Punk 00:23_

_Chaleen? - sent - 00:26_

_Who else? - Punk 00:28_

_Use it! - sent - 00:29_

_What? - Punk 00:31_

_Use it! In a promo, it'll be funny. - sent -00:33_

_I might, it might work. - Punk 00:40_

_I expect full credit and pizza as payment for the suggestion. When you home next, I'm going to collect! - sent -00:43_

It surprises you that he doesn't reply to that comment, never mentions it again. You read this little conversation over and wondering if this is friendship or if it's some kind of cruel personal punishment because it feels like you're punishing yourself and that is beginning to feel normal too. You force yourself to follow his matches, his storylines and the more you watch, the more it annoys you, the more you hate what they're doing with him, they're wasting him, using him all wrong and the more you think , the more you realise this is less a personal punishment and more one from the Universe.

"Why the fuck are they booking you like this?" You're in Japan, the time difference might be thirteen hours but you've little doubt that he'd still be up, little doubt that he'll answer if you call. His booking is painful and nonsensical; you're not certain what they're doing with him. You let him go so he could have the career he wanted, the recognition he deserved and all they've done is make him feud with and lose to part timers.

"_Fucked if I know_." He sounds resigned, sad, tired, the last of those three is no surprise. He looks tired on TV; his messages to you feel tired, like he's painting on a brave face by hiding behind the written word.

"Do they not know you're supposed to strike whilst the iron is hot?" You get the feeling you're ranting but you're furious on his behalf, he seems too tired to be as annoyed as you think he should be.

"_I guess Paul going over was more important than capitalising on all the money they could make off me?"_ He laughs softly and you can picture him, sitting on a hotel bed, rubbing at the back of his neck, looking exhausted, like he needs a good night's rest and not being able to get it for one reason or another.

"It's fucking stupid, Punk. You're the hottest thing they've got and all they're doing is pouring cold water on you! Seriously, what the fuck?" You're still ranting and the soft sigh he gives has you pausing, wishing you'd called him in a better mood with softer words.

"_If I knew, I'd tell you. Look, uh, thanks for calling. I've an early start tomorrow, I should get some sleep_." He's not sleeping any time soon, you can tell by the soft glimmer of guilt in his tone, something in your chest gives a little twinge and your fingers feel itchy, _friends_ you force yourself to remember.

"Oh, uh, sorry, I just... I'm sorry. I'll let you sleep. G'night Pu-"

"_Good night_." He cuts you off and hangs up. You listen to the dead line for a few seconds, hoping he'll call you back, let you wish him good night but he doesn't so you hang the phone back in its spot, trying very hard not think of how much calling his cell from the hotel is going to cost you.

It's November twentieth before they let him have his title back, after forcing him through a futile feud and dumping as much cold water on him as they can. It struck you as pointless, to let him get himself so very over, only to cool him off so very much but there is a reason you're not with that company anymore and really, the motif of his time with them has been him working his ass off, getting himself over and them dumping on him.

_HOLY SHIT PUNKERS! THE FINK! - sent 23:01_

Perhaps not the most eloquent message you've ever written but it is honest, painfully honest, you're excited for him, a little jealous too, having Howard Finkel announce you is something you've always wanted but you're happy for him, so very happy.

_I know! How awesome was that? - Punk 23:03_

You think his message sounds happy, think it sounds like he might welcome a call for a change. You miss hearing his voice, his real voice, not the CM Punk promo voice but the slightly deeper timbre of Phil Brooks and his text fills you with the hope that he might actually sound happy, you can't remember the last time you heard him genuinely happy.

"_Hello_?" He answers, voice oddly timid.

"Hey! I had to say congratulations properly. They gonna let you have a proper title reign this time_?_" You hope they are, you hope this whole letting him go thing will serve the purpose it was intended to, you hope that this whole escapade will have the desired outcome for him.

"_They have to_." He sounds smug and chuckles slightly.

"Oh_?_"

"_Put it in my fucking contract, a proper fucking run with the ball, whether they like it or not_."

"_Smart, Punkers-_" You say without thought, Punkers is normal after all but his voice cuts through, sharp and biting, like the wind in winter.

"_Punk!_"

"I... I'm sorry. I just... Well done. You looked good out there, okay. Maybe when you're in Chicago next we can... celebrate?" You're back on the back foot, stumbling, trying to gather up something of the enthusiasm you had when you first called but it's hard.

"_Celebrate? Yeah, sure, maybe._" You can tell just from his tone you're not going to see him for a while, a long while.

_Sorry, was a flying visit. Maybe next time? - Punk 07:33_

You tell yourself it's not a surprise when you get the message, when the next time he's back in Chicago, he avoids you. It isn't a surprise but it hurts but then again, hurting is normal for you now.

_Yeah, sure, next time. - sent 07:53_

You were supposed to be getting back tomorrow but you changed your mind and decided you wanted to spend an extra day getting ready, before heading down for WrestleCon. Once you've flicked on the lights, you stare, you know the jacket hanging up in your hall, you know the sneakers under it. You toe your own shoes off and move quietly through your apartment, the lounge is empty, which leaves the bedroom. The door's half-open, the streetlights offer enough visibility. You creep into the room and pause by the bed, carefully moving his hair from his brow, watching the little crease between his brows ease up some. You brush a soft kiss over his cheek and stand. You're torn between getting into bed behind him and leaving him to sleep; he looks a little more relaxed, a little more at peace now that you've kissed him.

"G'night Punkers." You whisper softly in his ear and leave him in peace, you weren't supposed to be back until tomorrow, so you'll sleep somewhere, you know there's an empty bed a few blocks over.

You see him only sporadically during Mania weekend, a few random encounters always with other people, always playing at being friends, this game of kayfabe, it's comfortable, normal and again you find yourself reminding yourself that being comfortable is something you should stop doing.

Episode one hundred is a landmark, you know this. Way back when you started this podcast, you'd agonised over asking him to be on it and now you're back to doing the same thing. _Friends_, he plays your friend so well and it's still horrible. You don't want to be his fucking friend, you want to wrap your arms around him and kiss him like you were in an airport bathroom. You've not laid a single finger on him, not really, since you held him in his apartment, just over eleven months ago, almost a fucking year ago you let him go and now he's your friend, your fucking friend, in your fucking apartment, sitting on the other end of your fucking couch, looking fucking beautiful and relaxed and you're the fucking idiot who let him go.

"Will you do me a favour?" He looks over at you, eyes as carefully blank as always; you're in no way used to this blank, slightly sorrowful gaze being turned on you. You've seen a thousand emotions in those eyes, seeing them blank like this pains you.

"Will I what?" He sounds confused, tucks his legs up, chin resting on his knees, half looking at you, half watching your TV. You're grateful for the divided attention, that blank gaze it gets too much so quickly and your mind summons up images to replace it with, images of him looking up at you, love burning in his eyes or the look in them from the day you ended your relationship in _friendship_, that soul-deep, wounded look brimming with sorrow.

"Do the show?" It's a rather pitiful mutter of a question, really, something you wish you'd said with more conviction, more strength, it's a friendly request made by one friend to another, not something that needs to murmured about.

"I already did your _padcast_." He shakes his head and turns from you.

"Well, yeah." Episode two, you remember. It's one of those horrible little moments that are burnt into your mind with diamond precision, him sitting wrapped up in the ugly blanket telling you he fucked another man, you asking him to repeal rule four and at the same time repealing rule one, the arrangement still heavy and unavoidable between you but lessened slightly. Stupid decisions are the cornerstone of your relationship with this man. "But, will you? Look episode one hundred is coming up and I, well, I thought maybe, I mean." He's the one with all the words, always has been and all you have is stumbling. His eyes turn back to you, something almost recognisable in them, something soft and fond.

"What?" His tone is flat though, devoid of anything and you feel any courage, his look might have given you evaporate.

"I, uh, never mind, it's stupid, it's nothing, forget it, okay?" You turn back to the TV, it was stupid to even consider asking him really, _friends_ you might be but there is no way you're ready to fake that for the general public, it's hard enough faking it for him.

"What is it?" He sighs, shifts slightly, his feet resting on the floor once more, his body twisting to face you.

"I, look if you don't want to it's fine, it's just we're back to being just _friends_ and I thought it might be fun and I, look never mind, forget it, really." Words tumble out of your mouth and his eyes are definitely softer, fondness for you simmers in them.

"I can't forget what I've never been told, Cabana." He laughs, sits cross-legged on the couch, a half smile on his lips and your brain stops working. He looks so fucking relaxed, so fucking comfortable, so _normal_.

"It's nothing really, Punk." You shake your head and stare at the TV, looking at him hurts too much. He looks like he's working so hard at being your friend or maybe it's not work at all, maybe that's all you are to him now.

"You want me to interview you?" You turn to stare at him once more, your mouth open slightly and he laughs.

"Would you?" You ask him, trying to sound normal, fearing you fail horribly though.

"Sure." He nods easily and you hope that this interview is easier than the one you gave him.

It was on a flight back to Chicago, when you ended up reading the magazine of the woman sitting beside you. You read an entire article on the subject of being friends with your ex, read an entire article that has you convinced that the last thing you can be to Punk is his friend. If you follow Cosmo's advice you should cut Punk from your life entirely, your relationship with him has been off and on more times than a whore's thong. Yet, it's clear that neither of you are able to manage without each other, you're too emotionally entangled. You can already hear what the advice columnist would have to say to you. You end up reading another magazine the woman has, reading more articles on broken relationships; one thing sticks with you, if you can be friends with an ex, then you were never truly in love. It's quite clear to you that you can't be his friend, you can play at it, that's comfortable by now but actually being his friend, that is impossible. It's a grimly long flight but it gives you plenty of time to think, plenty of time to come to conclusions.

"Hello?" You weren't expecting anyone to call at this time of night, you've no doubt you sound pissed off, mostly because you are. There are three ringtones that are permitted to wake you up; this was not one of them.

"_Is being a cranky bastard a Chicago thing?_" You recognise that voice and you've no fucking idea as to why John Cena would be phoning you in the middle of the night.

"Uh, what the fuck?" He's the one phoning you, you decide that you've the right to be pissed with him.

"_Sorry, I just. Look, it's Punk._" You sigh, of course, it's Punk, it's always Punk. When anyone employed by the WWE gets in contact with you, your _friend's_ name is attached to it. A lot of the time when anyone gets in contact with you it's somehow related to Punk.

"What's he done now?" You sigh, sitting up and scrubbing at your eyes, a list of a thousand infractions he could've caused running through your mind.

"_It's more what he hasn't done, that's the problem._" At this Cena laughs nervously, you can almost picture the man rubbing the back of his neck and looking uncomfortable.

"How long?" You ask, you know what the problem is; you've no doubt in your mind what's the matter with Punk.

"_Well, uh, probably since Europe, probably, I think. It's getting bad, he's, uh, he talks to walls._" Europe, that was back in April, way back before you even asked him to do the podcast a few weeks ago. He's not been sleeping properly in months, it must be getting bad if he's hallucinating, talking to walls is a new development in Punk's chronic insomnia. "_I, uh, I kinda, sorta, maybe, kind of helped him sleep a little but-_"

"What did you do?" You've no right to the ice-cold fury in your voice. You let Punk go, he's your friend, you should be happy he's moved on but you're not, you're livid because he's not your friend, you're in love with him, grimly, desperately, stupidly in love with him. No one else is allowed to touch him; no one else is allowed to be in the position to guard his sleep, that's your job, even if you gave it up, it's still yours. The image of him curled up in your bed flits through your mind at that moment and you can't help but wonder if that was the only or even the first time he's done that. If perhaps, he's been crashing at your place whilst you're away. It's at once a depressing and hopeful thought. Hypocrisy is a strange thing you think, scrubbing at your face with one hand again. It's not like you don't, more often than not, at least visit his place whilst he's way, don't steal his lemon scented shower gel, don't curl up on his sofa watching his over-sized TV wrapped up in his duvet, silently wishing he'd forget the ugly blanket just once. It's oddly like being in a relationship with a ghost, visiting his home, seeing the little new things he's acquired, the little changes, accidently making your own, you suppose. There are times when you get back from being on the road and there are things moved, things added in your place. It's an odd moment to realise that you've both been clinging to the half-life of your shattered relationship. You scrub at your eyes once more and force yourself to pay attention to Cena.

"_I, uh, he passed out and he seems to sleep some if you sit with him._" Cena sounds hesitant and nervous, there's more to this than what he's saying.

"What did you do?" Cena gives a nervous laugh and you wonder if you can kill someone solely with the power of your mind.

"_Nothing, he shot me down hard._" Another laugh. "_Whoever he's hung up on, he has it bad. Any idea on my competition?_" You snort dismissively and Cena gives more nervous laughter and then an awkward pause. "_Oh! Oh, shit! I swear I had no idea, he never said anything, just that he wasn't interested, would never be interested, that he was someone else's._" Cena's words cause your brain to stumble, pausing in its plans to kill Cena and hide the body. He said he was someone else's, he implicated to Cena that he was yours, that he still was yours despite your letting him go, that he doesn't want anyone else, that he belongs to you, he's _yours_.

"Which hotel are you in? He forgot to tell me." You manage to force a laugh, Cena sighs with relief.

"_I won't say a word._" He says and you find that you believe him, Cena's voice is firm, he won't betray this secret. There's no doubt you're going to go to Punk, you always do, he's yours after all.

"Scout's honour?" You joke and Cena laughs, then rattles off the hotel's address, close enough that the cab fare won't be too painful, so you assure him you'll meet him in twenty minutes.

When you get to the hotel, Cena is sitting in the foyer, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"Hi." You stand in front of him, you left your bags in your hotel, you're in town for a show tomorrow night, staying another day after that, it made more sense to leave them where they were.

"Hi, uh, how are you?" Cena is, you discover horrible at small talk and you have the incredible urge to punch him. This man has been fulfilling your role, he's been trying to put Punk to sleep, granted by the sounds of things he's terrible at it but it annoys you that he's even trying.

"Which room, do you have a key?" He blinks up at you and you fold your arms over your chest before you do punch him, the blank boy scout face he's pulling is incredibly irritating.

"Uh, here." He holds out a key and stands, walking to the elevators and pressing the call button. "I'm in the room next door." The ride up is silent until you're almost at the right floor, Cena clears his throat and you look over at him. "You know, he's a very bad mountain goat." Cena gives a nervous laugh and you stare at him. You didn't know John Cena was insane until this moment. "I was drunk, my marriage was over and he looked miserable." He says, rubbing the back of his neck and looking anywhere but at you. The door opens and you move to leave the elevator, Cena's hand grabs your arm. "He knocked me back, I learned my lesson." You almost laugh, if he learnt his lesson he really should let go of your arm, without thought your throw a punch at him and leave him clutching at his face. That was possibly not a measured or reasonable thing to do but at this moment, your interest in the man you just assaulted is negligible, your mind is caught on another man, the one behind the door in front of you.

Once you're in the room, you stare at him, curled on his side, curled up around the ugly blanket, looking small and vulnerable. You toe off your shoes and slip under the covers behind him, your arms wrap around him and you move closer to him, pressing yourself along his back. The sleep Cena roused you from creeping over you once more.

"Hmm, Colt?" His voice is soft and sleepy, his body snuggles back against you and you squeeze him tightly.

"Mmm-hmm, it's me." You pitch your voice low, trying to keep him asleep; he squirms slightly in your hold, his hands resting on your arms.

"Why?" He sounds desperately confused and you resist the urge to laugh, you're here because he needs you to be, does he really need to question this, he needs you, you're there, that's how the universe works, that's how you work.

"Why does Cold as Ice have my number?" You change the subject, you'll talk in the morning, you'll sort something out later, right now, you're tired and he's warm and comfortable.

"Uh, I gave it to him?" For emergencies is all you can imagine, there's no other reason to give your number to Cena but you can't say you mind him having it, not right now.

"Turn over, I hate holding you like this." You do, you hate being pressed against his back, it reminds you too much of holding him after you fucked him to sleep, you're not having sex with him tonight, you're not having it for a long time. You've a plan forming in your mind but it's something for the morning.

"Why?" He twists away from you, turns to face you, his hair loose and hanging in his eyes slightly. You smile and move it out of the way, meeting his sleepy gaze, your hand lingering over his brow, trailing down to his cheek.

"The _arrangement_." You hiss, his eyes widen, something like shock in them and he presses you onto your back, his head resting on your chest, his leg thrown over your own, his hands tucked under his chin. You press a kiss to his hair and wrap your arms about him. "That's better." And it is, it's so much better, you feel at home for the first time in over a year. You can't help but think that you two should have some kind of medal, the Leonardo Da Vinci award for services to wasting time.

"What did Cena say?"

"That you weren't a very good mountain goat." You laugh slightly and kiss his hair again as he makes an odd little noise that sounds at once amused and exasperated. "And you were talking to walls." That is something you'd like to discuss with him further, you can't help but wonder if it's happened before, if this is some by-product of being away from you or something more serious.

"He's weird." He laughs again and snuggles against you some more, squirming to make himself more comfortable, one hand moving to stroke your chest. "I don't sleep well in Europe, the time difference, it fucks with me, you know that." His voice is almost sullen, he sounds rather sardonic.

"_Really_? Time differences? That was in April, Punk. Why were you talking to walls?" You don't quite believe that the time differences screwed with him that much, sure being in different time zones always did mess with his already terrible sleeping pattern but to the extent that he's seeing things, that has you more than a little worried.

"I don't sleep great." His definitely sounds embarrassed, he shifts again, trying to be pressed even closer to you somehow.

"_Punk_." You try to sound stern but you think you mostly fail and the gentle stroke you give his back, probably undoes the little you managed.

"Or at all, I _might_ have had a few tiny moments of seeing things." Well, at least he's being something like honest with you, not trying to lie or fob you off with excuses, admitting a watered down version of the truth is a great step forward really.

"Call me, next time you can't sleep, next time it goes for more than three nights, call me. I'll bore you to sleep, Punk." Your idea, it's something that might work but it's a conversation for the morning, not for now, not for when he's lying in your arms and you're able to enjoy holding him once more.

"I will." He murmurs softly, drifting away to sleep, his breathing evening out quietly. You fall asleep to the sound of his breath and the feeling of his weight pressing against you, you fall asleep perfectly content for the first time in far too long.

You wake first and take advantage of it to watch him sleeping, how relaxed he looks in your arms, how different he looks here to when he sleeps alone, how it's clear that you make him feel safe, protected so he sleeps more deeply, secure in the knowledge that you're there.

"Morning." You say softly, he blinks awake and sits up.

"I'm sorry." He scoots away from you, wraps his arms around his shins as he rests his chin against his knees.

"Don't." You catch one of his ankles and pull his leg straight. "I wanna talk to you. I've a proposition." He sighs and shakes his head, his eyes filled with that horrible pain from when you let him go in his apartment and your heart clenches.

"Colt." His voice is painful to listen to, so small, so quietly broken, alls you can do is try to counter it so you smile at him, reaching your hand out and cupping his cheek.

"I wanna date you." You say, a rather stupid smile on your face.

"I'm sorry, what?" He raises his eyebrow and starts scrubbing at his eyes.

"The one thing we haven't tried." You tell him earnestly and he laughs, shaking his head and yawning.

"If you're gonna confuse me, feed me first." He shakes his head and rubs his eyes again, looking at you with something between mistrust, confusion and hope. You order pancakes from room service and sit on the bed, watching him carefully as you wait for them to arrive. He stares at you, different emotions swirling through his eyes and as much as you want to reach out to him, you'll feed him first.

"So, sufficiently fed?" You ask him once he puts his empty plate on the nightstand.

"One thing we haven't tried?" He asks and you smile slightly, you've thought long and hard on that list and this is the one. "We've tried that, in case you forgot, we were fucking for quite some time." You nod and he frowns, you were fucking for quite some time and that might very well have been the problem.

"We were friends, then fuck-buddies, then kind of lovers, then kind of fuck-buddies and kind of friends again." Never once, not really at least, was it a relationship without sex as the key component. You need to learn how to be in a relationship with each other, without it turning physical every time something goes wrong. He nods slightly and rubs at his temples, still looking horribly confused.

"What's your point?" He frowns at you and you smile back, catching his hand, holding it gently.

"My point is we've never dated." He takes his hand from you with a shake of his head, eyes hard and miserable.

"We've already fucked. It's a little late for candle-light dinners and walks on the beach." A bitter lilt to his voice and soul-deep pain in his eyes.

"Is it?" You laugh softly and he stares at you like you've gone mad. It's refreshing to be on the receiving end of those looks for a change.

"There's no point in us _dating_." He makes finger quotes as he says _dating_ and you laugh at him again, catching his hands, tugging him closer to you.

"It's always been sex between us, Punkers." You stroke his wrists. "First thing we did after the whole lemon thing?" You ask him studying the differences in your hands, his thin, long, but strong, like the roots of a tree, your own big, strong, thick like the trunk.

"Fucked." He sounds confused but doesn't try to take his hands back.

"The arrangement?" You ask him, entwining your fingers with his, you don't think you've ever just held his hand like this, despite having made love to him countless times, this feels gloriously intimate.

"Repeated fucking." He sounds distant, you meet his eyes and he's thinking through what you've said, realising that sex at some stage became the cornerstone of your relationship, back when it was okay, sex was something so rare, something so occasional, what was more important was intimacy, it was your embrace he sought out first, not your cock. "Huh, I never noticed." He mutters and you smile.

"So, will you go on a date with me?" You ask him, letting go of his hands and staring at him.

"I, uh, _yes_?" It sounds like a question and you can't help but laugh, he looks mildly offended but smiles slightly at you. "Yes, I'll go on a date with you." He says more firmly. "But not right now, I gotta get ready to go." You nod and get off the bed, pulling your shoes back on. "You wanna borrow a clean shirt?" He asks, getting off the bed himself, pulling his pants from yesterday back on, swapping shirts and sitting to pull his socks back on his feet, no matter what his salary, he still is that dirty kid from the wrong side of town.

"Nah, I'm good." You pick up your jacket from the chair and he walks over to you, stops just out of arms reach. "What?"

"I've a few days off this week, will be heading back to Chicago." He says vaguely and you smile at him.

"There somewhere you wanna go on our first date?" You ask him, a grin on your face. He shakes his head and laughs.

"You asked me out, you gotta pick. I'm just letting you know." He steps closer and brushes a kiss over your cheek. "Now fuck off, I've got shit to do."

You spend the next few days working and considering carefully where to take him. You can't remember your last date clearly but you think an over-priced restaurant and flowers will not be received well by him. You're nervous, you're excited, this is so far from comfortable, so far from normal and it feels like the best thing to happen to you in a _long_ time.

* * *

**littleone1389**: Not so much of an emotional roller coaster, I don't think... Talking to each other, it's something that would be good for them but they are _bad_ at. ;)

******bitteralisa**: I think this chapter is a little more cheerful. (I did love the Star Wars mention. :D) We're getting there, this is literally the middle chapter now, the end is nigh.

******adg888**: It would have but they are kind of back together, stumbling back into a semblance of a relationship.

**BadgerLynne**: Not quite deathbeds but another year wasted... I feel perhaps there should be some manner of reward for their procrastinating abilities. I am _so _glad you agree with me on Creative. :D

**alizabethianrose**: Colt was kind of of the opinion that they were normal and that was the problem, so this was the solution.

_Start of the second era, the second stage in the evolution of their mildly ridiculous relationship and I hope you enjoyed it! As ever, comments, criticisms, thoughts, random observations and reviews are all welcomed and encouraged!_

**_As such: Please leave a review, even if it's just "Hey, that didn't suck", I'd be so far and beyond grateful. Heck even if you thought it did suck, tell me too, something is better than nothing after all. :D First time reviewer? Don't be shy! I'm nice, honest(!), no matter what you think, your thoughts are important to me. :3_**


	8. Calling Spots

_Punk chapter: 1 person PoV Warnings: Slash, Profanity__. text like this_is a date on Punk's calendar

* * *

_**November twenty-eighth**_

_**Raw, Columbia - FUCKING DEL RIO AGAIN!**_

_Sorry, was a flying visit. Maybe next time? - sent 07:33_

_Yeah, sure, next time. - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 07:53_

Nice of him to concede to your cowardice so easily, Sir Punk.

It's not cowardice, its rational reasoning. I'm not ready to see him yet. _Friends_ isn't what I want, I don't think it's what he wants, not really but it's what we have to be. The one thing we've not tried yet.

I'd like to point out the flaws in his reasoning, you've tried being friends, you were friends in the first place. His being your friend was why you trusted him enough to help you sleep way back when, being his friend was why you trusted him to keep you safe, being his friend was why you fell in love with him, Mr Punk.

I know, okay, I know but being anything more isn't something we can do, not whilst I'm an employee of the WWE.

Because he'll get jealous.

Because I've proven I'll fuck up, because _he's_ proven he'll fuck up, we need to work together to make a relationship work. When there's too much space between us, we both do stupid things and make a mess of it. So even if this isn't what we want, it's what we have to have, for now at least.

You're still pinning your hopes on him not changing his mind in three years? It's a hell of a long time.

It is, maybe he will, maybe he'll move on, maybe he'll find some perfect person out on the road, someone that'll make him happy.

You don't?

For every minute of happiness, I've given him a month of misery. If this was anyone else, I'd have walked away long ago.

Why haven't you?

Because it's him, because it's Colt, because I _need _him, I _want _him, I _love_ him.

_**January twenty-third**_

_**Raw Phoenix - FUCK YOU LAURINAITIS!**_

_Why are you feuding with Laurinaitis? - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 23:46_

_One of life's great mysteries? Honestly, I think they want it to be all Austin vs. McMahon but Vince has a fucking personality. A feud with a pudding cup would be easier to sell than this, I swear. - sent 23:50_

_Ha, I can see that! CM Punk versus the dastardly Butterscotch. - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 23:54_

_I would never feud with Butterscotch! I'd eat that delicious bastard before it knew what happened, chocolate on the other hand. - sent 23:57_

_I will NEVER understand your hatred of chocolate pudding. It's the KING of pudding, full of chocolately goodness! - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 00:01_

_Chocolate should come in bar or cake form! These are the only acceptable ways to consume chocolate! You should know this by now, Cabana. - sent 00:04_

_You're wrong, Punk, so very, very, very wrong. Get some sleep, you look like shit. - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 00:10_

_Fuck off, I look amazing! - sent 00:22_

_Goodnight, Punk. GTS! - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 00:24_

_Gimmick infringement! Goodnight, Cabana. - sent 00:28_

_**March fifth**_

_**Raw Boston - The walls of Jeri-Troll **_

"_Hey, you okay?_"

"Why are you calling me, it's like three in the morning."

"_Knew you'd be awake._"

"Of course, I'm awake. Why fuck are you awake?" Seriously, you should be asleep; it's not like you to be awake at this time of night.

Morning, Mr Punk.

"_Was worried about you. How much of this Jericho stuff did you agree to?_" Really, that's why you're calling me, honestly, like I'd not agree to this shit, like it's not something that isn't readily available to anyone with YouTube.

"All of it."

"_Really? You sure?_"

"Yes, I'm sure! Look..."

"_It's late, I know, I'm sorry I called you so late but I couldn't sleep-_"

"Why? What's wrong?"

Worried, Mr Punk?

Yes, I'm the one with chronic insomnia; I don't need him dealing with the voices in his head too.

"_Was worried._" About me? What the fuck for, Cabana?

"I'm fine."

"_You look... You don't look... I... I don't know. Just, please, try and get some rest Punk. Mania's soon._"

"I will."

"_Okay, good. G'night Pun-_"

"G'night."

_**April first**_

_**Mania, Miami - Trumpets round the walls of Jeri-Troll **_

Why are we here, Mr Punk?

On the planet? That's a very philosophical question. Is there really an answer to such a question, does there really need to be a point to life? It might just be a series of events that occur, no rhyme, no reason. You know, humans are very arrogant creatures, you think that penguins spend their time considering why they exist and invent penguin gods to pray to, no it's a human thing. I bet there's no sloth gods either.

That wasn't quite the question I was asking.

Oh.

Why are we here, in his apartment?

Oh. That's also a good question, I guess. We're here because I'm tired. I'm tired and this blanket isn't helping right now.

You're here to charge it up or something?

I guess, yeah, it's pathetic, I know but he's gone for a few days and I've some down time before I need to be there for Mania and I want to have gotten some sleep at least. He told me to rest, to sleep and I'll sleep here, I know I will.

So here we are.

So here I am, curled up like an idiot in his bed, telling myself this is normal, even though the very last thing this is, is normal because normal people can sleep without being surrounded by the scent of their _best_ _friend_.

I won't tell anyone, it can be normal for you, for now at least. G'night, Mr Punk.

"G'night Colt."

_**April second**_

_**Raw, Miami - Raw after Mania/sexual chocolate**_

"You know, you remind me of a mountain goat." John Cena is insane and when did he become my friend?

"What?"

"A mountain goat. You know, a goat-"

"That lives on mountains? I know what a mountain goat is." Just sit yourself down, Cena, make yourself at home, not like this is _my_ crate.

"You remind me of one."

"I see."

"Ain't you gonna ask me why?" No, Cena, I'm not going to indulge your madness, I'm going to have a nap. "You see, mountain goats, live on mountains, as you know." Yes, where are you going with this? "And they eat the grass that grows on the side of mountains. There's no safety net on the side of a mountain, Punk."

"Cena, what the fuck are you talking about."

"If a mountain goat slips, its game over."

"Not if you like jerk goat."

"You eating dead things again?"

"Cena."

"Okay, okay. Mountain goats, they hop from ledge to ledge to tiny little ledge and if they slip, they're-"

"Dead? What's the point you're trying to make, John?"

"I don't wanna see you miss a ledge, Punk." Why is my life constantly plagued with idiots?

Personally, I thought it was rather sweet, if confusing, really _mountain goats_?

"I only have two feet. I'm like half a mountain goat. Moun-Goat, maybe."

"Tain-Goat?"

"Moun-Go?"

"Tain-At?" Idiots, surrounded by idiots.

I believe, Mr Punk, the term might be friends.

_Idiots_.

_**April thirteenth - twenty-second**_

_**Europe - BUY COMICS! DO NOT READ COMICS IN THE AIRPORT!**_

Who the fuck would be knocking on my hotel door at three a.m.

Anyone who knows you and wants to have a conversation with you, Mr Punk. It's not like you sleep.

"You know, Punk, you never look happy." Ah, drunk John Cena, what an unexpected surprise.

"Fuck, John, you're heavy." And stink like someone pour a fifth of whiskey over you.

"You always look so sad. Why?"

"John, you're drunk."

"That's not an answer, that's a _statement_, a non-sequencer, nonsenser, non... What's the word I want?"

"Non sequitur."

"That's it! You're so clever, Punk."

And sad, Mr Punk. What are we going to do with him? He's looking droolly.

I don't know, I've never dealt with drunk Cena before, he does look like he's gonna fall asleep soon.

"Yeah, I'm a genius. Where's your room key, John? I'll put you to bed."

"I can sleep here."

"No."

"With you. You know, the boys think you need a good fuck, think that you're always so uptight cause you've got a stick in your ass, which makes no sense to me, cause if they think you'll loosen up cause of a dick in your ass, why do they think you're so pissed bout a stick?" Drunk Cena, he tells me all the locker room gossip I don't want to hear. "I don't think just one fuck would do you the damnedest bit of good, Punk. You're always bundled up in that blankie, you seem like the cuddly type."

Who knew drunk Cena would be so observant, Mr Punk.

"Cena."

"I could cuddle you, Punk. My wife, she's gone. I got no one to cuddle and you seem _so _very _cuddly_."

"John, get off me." Please get the fuck off of me, I don't want to have to hurt you but if you don't stop trying to fucking molest me, I will.

"You've got the prettiest eyes, Punk but you always look so sa-OW!"

Did you just knee SuperCena in the balls, Mr Punk?

Yes and now, I'm taking his room key and sleeping there. I'll deal with his stupid ass in the morning.

Do you think he's awake yet or are we going to sneak in, get some clothes and get out, Mr Punk?

If he's asleep, he's getting woken the fuck up and kicked the fuck out, fucking asshole.

"Did we switch rooms last night?"

"Inadvertently, yes." Drunken asshole.

"Look, I'm sorry, last night..."

"Last night?" Well, Cena, would you like to explain why you were attempting to coerce me into replacing the stick in my ass with your dick?

"If I said I don't remember, would you believe me?"

"No."

"Oh, okay. Look, I meant what I said, even if I was a drunken ass about saying it." Stay on the fucking bed, stay away from me, get your hands off of me, Cena, I don't like people touching my hair.

I suppose, Colt's only one person, so that is actually a reasonable statement, Punk.

"Don't touch me."

"I... I would _cuddle_ you if that's what you need, little mountain goat. I'm worried about you." What the fuck is it with people and worrying about me?

You're a fucking mess that calls to the maternal instincts of all surrounding idiots.

"No."

"No? Look, I'm single, if that's the problem. You're not seeing anyone, you're never seeing anyone."

"There's someone, there's always been someone it's just. It's complicated." Horribly, painfully, miserably complicated.

"_Complicated_?"

"Complicated. We're not together right now, haven't been for a while." But I want to be, I want him so fucking much it _hurts_.

"So what's the problem? Let me be your safety net." I don't want you to catch me Cena. I don't want to be having this conversation with anyone, let alone you, just go away.

"Cena, I have a safety net. It's just a long way down and I don't know if it's strong enough to catch me now that I've climbed so high but it's there and I trust in it. It's the only net I need, the _only _one I _want_."

"You don't sound happy about that, Punk." I'm not happy.

"Love isn't a very happy emotion in my experience, Cena." You look surprised, what didn't think I was capable of love, Cena?

"I hear you, brother. Wanna eat ice cream and watch documentaries? In the UK, they have the best nature shows."

"I...Uh... Sure."

I take back everything I said about friends, Mr Punk. You are surrounded by idiots.

_**May twenty-ninth**_

_**Smackdown, Baton Rouge - WHEN DID HE STOP BEING THE BIG RED MACHINE?**_

"Will you do me a favour?" What Colt, what now? How the fuck do you not see that this is killing me? I don't want to be your fucking friend. How in the fucking hell do you manage to sit over there and do nothing, when all I want to do is curl up at your feet like a cat.

"Will I what?"

"Do the show?" The show?

"I already did your _padcast_." Remember, it was at my place, where I told you I fucked Hardy and you let me get away with it.

To be fair that was quite some time ago and he does appear to moved past that, quite admirably, Mr Punk.

"Well, yeah but, will you? Look episode one hundred is coming up and I, well, I thought maybe, I mean."

"What."

"I, uh, never mind, it's stupid, it's nothing, forget it, okay."

"What is it?"

"I, look if you don't want to it's fine, it's just we're back to being just _friends_ and I thought it might be fun and I, look never mind, forget it, really."

"I can't forget what I've never been told, Cabana."

"It's nothing really, Punk."

"You want me to interview you?" Oh, don't look so surprised, I'm not stupid.

Debatable.

Shut it.

"Would you?"

"Sure."

See, _stupid_, Mr Punk.

_**September third**_

_**Raw, HERE! **_

_Is Paul E awesome? He seems awesome. - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 23:06_

_Uh, he's great? I worked with him in OVW. Why the excitement? - sent 23:33_

_That was off-screen, Punk, this is ON-SCREEN! Paul E Dangerously is your manager and that is fucking awesome! - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 23:37_

_It is pretty good, huh? You want me to ask him to do the podcast? - sent 23:40_

_YES! - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 23:42_

_WAIT NO! I WOULDN'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY! DON'T ASK HIM! - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 23:44_

_NO DO! - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 23:45_

_NO DON'T! - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 23:47_

_DO! - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 23:49_

_DON'T! - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 23:52_

_Colt, go to sleep, you've gone insane. - sent 23:56_

_You're in Chicago right? - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 23:58_

_The airport, yeah. Why? - sent 00:03_

_Nothing, nevermind. Have a good flight, Punk. - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 00:16_

_**September sixteenth**_

_**NoC - Boston - GET YANKEES GEAR!**_

I need to sleep.

I'm aware of that, Mr Punk, but why are we having this revelation now?

Because I can see you, sitting there, looking at me, looking at you.

Well, that is never good, Mr Punk.

"Why do you have a monocle?"

Monocle? How classy, do I have a top hat too?

"No, no hat."

How disappointing, I'd like a top hat and tails; I think I'd look great in tails

"And a Dick Dastardly moustache?"

I'd be fucking dashing, Punk, stop laughing.

"Punk? You okay there, buddy?"

"Cena?" When the fuck did you show up?

"You okay?"

"I'm good, I'm good." I'm just tired, _really_ tired.

"You're cackling like a Disney villain, Punk. If I didn't know you, I'd say you were high." Hey, put me down, we're in semi-public, some hotel staff might see. "Let's get you to bed."

"I was in bed, Cena. I can't sleep so I go up. Insomnia, you know."

"And it's gotten so bad, you're chatting with walls, Punk. Try and sleep."

"I... uh..." Stay for a bit Cena, I'm not gonna sleep, I know that and you seem pretty awake yourself.

"Move over, there's an awesome documentary about anteaters on Nat Geo." Thanks Cena.

_**September seventeenth**_

_**Raw, Bridgeport - WHY THE FUCK IS ADR ON MY SIDE NOW?**_

"So, we're friends, right Punk?"

"I'm sorry, what?" Seriously, Cena, you crash over in my room once and you think you get to have buddy-buddy conversations with me.

Technically, he's crashed twice, it's just the first time you tried to castrate him with you knee and slept in his room.

Shut it, you.

"We're friends, aren't we?"

"I suppose."

"Good! Now, why the fuck don't you sleep?"

"I don't know."

Bullshit, Sir Punk! You don't sleep because you don't feel safe unless you're all snuggled up with your beloved; only he's not your beloved right now, is he? He's your _friend_ and probably the reason the washing powder keeps vanishing.

And the source of all the subway wrappers in the trash and the fact the duvet keeps ending up the wrong way round.

But really, are you one to complain? You're the reason his apartment is so fucking clean, the reason he has food in his place when you get a chance, the reason it's all lemony fresh again.

"Punk?"

"Sorry, was miles away." Shut up, you!

"You keep doing that, little mountain goat. I'm getting worried. Is there someone I should call in case you finally fucking die from exhaustion?"

Good question really and there's only one number you're going to give him, right Punk?

_**September twenty-fourth **_

_**Raw, Albany - DO NOT MARK OUT AT MICK... AGAIN!**_

"Hmm, Colt?" I know these arms, I know this warmth behind me but, why the fuck would he be here? I'm sure I fell asleep when Cena went back to his room.

"Mmm-hmm, it's me."

"Why?" Really, why the fuck are you here? I need to get used to not having you show up when I need it most and the only way to do that is, you know, for you not to show up when I'm this bad.

"Why does Cold as Ice have my number?" Cena?

"Uh, I gave it to him?" Emergencies and all that.

"Turn over, I hate holding you like this."

"Why?" Not like I'm going to argue, if you hate holding me one way, that means there's another you like, right?

"The _arrangement_." Oh? Oh! All those nights I thought I dreamt you were holding me and you really were. Fuck me, all those times I swore I could feel your hands stroking me, your legs wrapped around mine and it wasn't dream, you really did that? _Idiot_. "That's better, I like this way better." I think I like this better too, like lying on your chest, listening to your heartbeat, it's much better.

"What did Cena say?"

"That you weren't a very good mountain goat and you were talking to walls." I'm glad you're as confused as I am by the goat thing.

"He's weird. I don't sleep well in Europe, time difference fucks with me, you know that."

"_Really_? Time differences? Why were you talking to walls?" Don't sounds so suspicious, it was all the time difference.

Indeed, time differences, Mr Punk.

"I didn't sleep great."

"_Punk_."

"Or at all, I _might_ have had a few tiny moments of seeing things." Only a few and this is fucking embarrassing, seriously, _this_ is how badly I can't handle my own shit.

"Call me." Huh? "Next time you can't sleep, next time it goes for more than three nights, call me. I'll bore you to sleep, Punk." Call you? What you gonna read me bedtime stories, Colt?

"I will." I promise, I'll call you, I don't think not sleeping this much is good for me and who doesn't like bedtime stories.

"Morning." So that wasn't a dream, huh. I had a feeling it was going to be one, like the nights when I'd be so sure I could feel you pressed against my back. This isn't very _friendly _though, I don't want this to go back to how it was, I don't want that fucking _arrangement_ back.

"I'm sorry." Now go away, just go back to where ever it is you came from.

"Don't." Don't pull at me, don't make me look at you this early, don't you know it hurts me? "I wanna talk to you. I've a proposition." Oh fuck, not another one, I'm not strong enough to say no to another _proposition_.

"Colt." Please don't, I can't take another one of those and don't touch me like this, don't touch me like I'm precious to you when all we are is _friends_.

"I wanna date you." _What_?

"I'm sorry, what?" Really, I maintain, what?

"The one thing we haven't tried." Life? Your thoughts?

He's gone mad, Mr Punk.

"If you're gonna confuse me, feed me first." Date me; we've already fucked, what the hell would he want to date me for, it makes no sense.

I would hypothesize that it makes sense to him but really that doesn't mean much, Mr Punk.

How the fuck can he want to date me, though? He already knows me; we've already been in a relationship, why would he want to do this?

He's gone insane, too many bumps to the head and now he's crazy, I would suggest, Mr Punk.

At least his madness provides pancakes to go with the confusion.

"So, sufficiently fed?" Fed, yes, any closer to understanding what the fuck you're thinking, no.

"One thing we haven't tried? We've tried that, in case you forgot, we were fucking for quite some time." Why are you just nodding at me, we did fuck, _please_ tell me you've not contracted amnesia.

I don't think you contract amnesia, Mr Punk.

You sure as hell don't catch it.

It's just something you get. Pay attention, he's explaining.

"We were friends, then fuck-buddies, then kind of lovers, then kind of fuck-buddies and kind of friends again." He's giving a history lesson, I know all of this.

"What's your point?" Stop being confusing and give me back my fucking hand.

"My point is we've never dated." No, no we haven't because we're grown ass men, not teenagers; this is some kind of weird joke isn't it?

"We've already fucked. It's a little late for candlelight dinners and walks on the beach." It's too late for romance, we might not have tried that but let's face it neither of us are exactly the candlelight dinner type and what happened to just being friends?

"Is it?" He has been hit in the head too many times.

I concur, Mr Punk.

"There's no point in us _dating_." It'd be a fucking futile endeavour that'd lead to us both being hurt _again_. There can't be anything between us, not whilst I'm here, you were right the first time. Distance is bad for us.

"It's always been sex between us, Punkers." I... I didn't mean for it to be. "First thing we did after the whole lemon thing?" Your hands are ridiculously big, you know that Colt, mine look like bundles of twigs in yours.

"Fucked." We fucked, we had sex, we made love.

"The arrangement?"

Is he really holding your hand, Mr Punk? Honestly, when _did_ he become fourteen?

"Repeated fucking." Fucking, nothing but fucking. Wait, when this first all started, the first thing I wanted was for you to hold me, I didn't know I was in love with you and then when I did, alls I wanted was to feel you in me, over me, all around me, like I could wrap myself up in you and all the time we're apart, it's the one thing I want most of all, to be wrapped in you. I guess I just used sex as a way to make that easier, to mesh us together; I resorted to sex because it was easy. "Huh, I never noticed."

"So, will you go on a date with me?" A date, like kids starting out, something fragile and uncertain, a relationship that needs to be nurtured and tended, something that could blossom.

"I, uh, _yes_?"

Really, Mr Punk? You're asking him and when did we become so very flowery? No more watching shit TV with Cena for you, I think it's having a bad influence.

"Yes, I'll go on a date with you." Shut it, you. "But not right now, I gotta get ready to go. You wanna borrow a clean shirt?" You can't go out in yesterday's clothes, Cabana.

This coming from the man pulling on the same pair of socks he's been wearing for two days, Mr Punk.

"Nah, I'm good. What?" I'm honestly not too sure, Colt. This is your show, I'm just gonna give you a day for the performance.

"I've a few days off this week, will be heading back to Chicago."

"There somewhere you wanna go on our first date?" Cheat, your idea.

"You asked me out, you gotta pick. I'm just letting you know. Now fuck off, I've got shit to do."

A kiss on the cheek, really? I'm surprised, Mr Punk, you really don't intend to drag him to bed and have your wicked way with him.

No, he's right, sex was a prop, we worked best when it wasn't important. This is a good idea, a little crazy but good. Starting over, starting properly, building a relationship, it's a good idea.

_Got time for a chat? - Boy Scout 07:39_

_Yeah, just heading down. - sent 07:43_

_Cool meet you in the corridor! - Boy Scout 07:45_

"Morning Punk." Holy shit what happened?

"What happened to you?" Seriously, Cena, why do you have a black eye, you run into a door or something?

"Your boyfriend has a mean right hook." My boyfriend? _Colt_ did this to you?

Mr Punk? Are you okay? Stop choking on water, you're alarming Cena.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Colt, he packs a punch." It was Colt but why the fuck would he be punching Cena?

Perhaps, Cabana, like most males over fifteen, can't stand him?

"Why'd he punch you?"

"Might have mentioned that one time I hit on you."

"And he gave you a black eye?" Classic Colt Cabana.

"Yup. Stop grinning about it! It's not funny, Punk. He's a bastard." _My_ bastard.

"With a mean right hook."

* * *

**littleone1389**: A little more insomnia and a whole dose more of Cena, the incredibly weird Cena... ;)

******adg888**: There is hope. :3 I know, I felt bad for Cena too, but sometimes, a good punch in the face is good for him. ;)

_I hope you enjoyed it! As ever, comments, criticisms, thoughts, random observations and reviews are all welcomed and encouraged!_

**_As such: Please leave a review, even if it's just "Hey, that didn't suck", I'd be so far and beyond grateful. Heck even if you thought it did suck, tell me too, something is better than nothing after all. :D_**


	9. Neogene: Miocene

_Colt chapter: 2nd person PoV Warnings: Slash, Profanity, Fluffy Fluff of Fluffiness._

* * *

It was a difficult decision but you think you've made the right one finally. This whole dating idea, it's surprisingly scary but if it works, if this goes well, then it might finally show you the way forward. There has to be a path forward together. You reached the decision that a path without him isn't one you want to face, you want him by your side. Even if there will be some distance between you both, you want it solely to be physical, you're tired, so very tired of it being emotional. You love him, that's the one thing you're certain of, hopelessly, desperately, wonderfully _certain_ that you love him and you're equally certain he loves you, so this should be _easy_. Should be and will be are two different things though.

A first date should be easy. Alls you need to do is find something you both enjoy but allows for time to talk because you do want to talk to him. You miss hearing him talk to you like he used to, you miss the rambling stories, you miss him just filling the air with his voice. You spend days agonising over your choice and finally you come up with a plan, it's not very exciting but you think he'll like it. You _hope_ he'll like it.

_I need to wear something nice? - Punkers 06:00_

His message make you smile, it's six a.m. on the morning of your date and he's already up and texting you.

_Something comfy, Punkers. - sent 06:03_

_Comfy? You mean I'm not being taken to the most expensive restaurant in town? - Punkers 06:07_

_No? Did you want to be? - sent 06:09_

_FUCK NO! - Punkers 06:11_

_Oh good. - sent 06:15_

_I do expect flowers though! jk - Punkers 06:19_

_Did you just use text speak at me?! - sent 06:23_

_Conveying sarcasm is difficult through the medium of text messaging. I should have called, do you want me to call, I can call. Are you asleep? I should let you sleep. - Punkers 06:29_

You stare at the message on your screen, text speak and written verbal diarrhoea, this is not like him at all.

"_Hello?_" He sounds incredibly odd when he answers the phone, his voice higher than usual.

"Punkers." You keep your voice quiet and soft, you want to calm him down, no matter how excited you feel right now and you do feel excited, uncomfortable but excited, you need to keep it hidden so he relaxes.

"_Yes?_" He asks and you can almost see him pacing around his place, can almost see the nervous energy in him.

"Sit down." You hear what sounds like him flopping down somewhere. "Close your eyes."

"_Colt?_" He sounds odd again but a different kind of odd, something more tired and timid.

"Close your eyes, Punkers." You tell him softly, trying to convey the gentle strokes you'd be giving his hair if you were with him through your voice.

"_Colt_." He starts and again you can hear a hint of something like frustration creeping into his tone.

"Close your eyes, relax, calm down. I'm gonna pick you up about two-thirty." You hear him moving again, probably sitting up once more.

"_That's early, I should_."

"Lie down, you should lie down and sleep. You don't need to be dressed up, I don't want to you dressed up. Don't want you to be anything other than you, Punkers." He sighs; you hope he's lying back down. "Alls you need to do right now is sleep, okay?" In your mind you can see him, curled up under the ugly blanket, the sunlight streaming through his window, falling over him, the picture in your mind is beautiful.

"_I... Will you talk to me?_" He asks softly, you hear him rustle around. "_Till I'm asleep?_" The quality of the call's changed; you think he must have changed it to speaker.

"Sure." You talk for a long time, till all you can hear from the other end of the line is his breathing. "I love you." You say softly; hear him make some kind of sleeping snuffle in response and hang-up. You know you told him to sleep but you can't, you feel wired. You decide to make an early start on getting ready.

At two-thirty, you knock on his door and are suddenly worried that he might not have been joking when he said he wanted flowers, you've not brought anything with you but yourself. What if he was expecting something, what if he's expecting something more romantic and special than what you've got planned. His door opens before panic can truly set in.

"Hey." He smiles as he opens the door. He's dressed as casually as you'd asked him, cargo shorts and a hoodie, cubs cap on his head, sneakers on his feet. You suddenly get the feeling he was waiting by the door for you.

"Hey." You smile back and feel slightly at a lose, you're not sure on the protocol for first dates. Do you hug, shake hands, kiss him? He makes the decision for you and pulls you into a tight hug, his lips brushing over your cheek.

"So, where we going?" He asks, letting you go, his smile even bigger.

"Surprise." You can feel an answering grin stretching your lips. "Oh! The blanket, grab that will you?" You ask him and his eyebrows knit. You want to give him some more good memories to go with the ugly thing. He nods and is only gone a moment, before coming back, the ugly blanket under his arm.

"We good then?" He asks and you nod, step back and let him leave his place.

You're not sure how close to stand to him, not sure exactly how to act around him right now. You actually miss the horrid pain of the last year but you've no intention of trading it for these nervous butterflies. They might make you so very uncomfortable but it's better than painful comfortable you've endured for so long. He seems just as at odds as you, as he walks beside you, sometimes very close, sometimes very far away. You think you both probably look ridiculous but you've no idea how to remedy it.

"This way." You turn a corner into a park and he follows you. It's autumn, the leaves on the trees are turning, the air is just on the edge of cooling down but the park remains beautiful and because it's the middle of week, it's mostly empty. You glance at your watch, glad that you're right on schedule and lead him to an odd little clearing off the path.

"A food-less picnic?" He asks you and you shake your head.

"Not feeding you yet. The view's nice here, though." You smile at him and take the ugly blanket, spread it out on the ground in front of the big tree and sit down, your back against the trunk. "C'mere." You pat the blanket beside you and he sits. "See, pretty isn't it?" The pond is rather beautiful, the red and gold leaves from the trees reflected in the water, the ducks swimming, the buzz of insects, all rather tranquil. He moves a little closer and your wrap your arm around him, his head rests on your shoulder.

"It's nice." He says softly, he doesn't sound overly impressed but you'd been banking on that really, on this lulling him into something soft so what happens in the next ten minutes will be more of a surprise. You think he's having a nap; his breathing is soft and deep. You watch the activity on the other side of the pond; certain he'd not noticed the little pavilion there. It had come as a surprise when you'd first happened across them, some kids rehearsing in middle of the park, some kids loudly rehearsing the music Punkers adores somewhere utterly inappropriate. It had amused you more than it should of and when you'd asked them, if they'd mind rehearsing specifically today, they agreed readily. You're fairly sure some of them knew who you were and that was the reason they'd agreed so easily, on the off chance that you'd bring your much more famous friend with you to hear them play. At the first chord, he jolts awake, blinking rapidly.

"Morning." You say dryly, smirking.

"The fuck?" He sounds mildly awestruck. You point across the pond to the high school kids playing. "They're not bad." He mutters, shuffling closer to you. He's right; they're okay, good considering their age really. You've no idea what half the songs they play are but he seems to know them all, softly singing along every so often. After about an hour, one of the kids' parents show up and you stand.

"C'mon, let's go." You say, pulling him to his feet and he frowns, looks around.

"We should help them." You shrug and gather up the blanket.

"This way then." You lead him round the pond and one of the kids spots him almost immediately, making some kind of over excited noise. You end up helping them pack up their gear and carrying it to the parents' car, the teenagers overexcited and practically begging him to sign their instruments, asking him his opinion on their playing, the bewildered looking parents trying to keep them from inviting Punk and you to eat with them. It was an odd moment but he looked happy with it and really, you think those kids probably have some of the most genuinely happy fan photos of Punk ever.

"Good kids." He mutters, as you both stand waving them off.

"Yup." You nod and he grins over at you. He looks so very content, that you know you're grinning right back at him. "So, food?"

"You're finally feeding me?" He laughs, walking beside you, bumping your shoulder with his own. "Was beginning to think I was gonna have to eat grass."

"You're veggie now, surely grass is actually on your menu." You laugh and he snorts, bumps into your shoulder again. You stop at a hotdog vender, you'd already checked if this guy did tofu dogs, ordering one for him and something made of dubious meat for yourself. You wander around some more, eating, talking of the kids and their band, him singing their praises and you just enjoying the sound of his voice. Eventually you come to a group of old men playing chess. You stand and watch for a while. When one loses and leaves, Punk takes his spot, telling the old man opposite to go easy, as he's only a beginner. The old man laughs and beats him easily. You expect Punk to give up then but what happens is he scoots over in the chair and pulls you down.

"Help me win." He says and you perch beside him, your thigh pressed against his and quietly discuss strategy, planning how to beat the old man. It surprises you how even in chess you're a good team, the next game is a victory for the Second City Saints. The old man laughs and demands a rematch, which ends in a stalemate and he bows out, leaving the black side of the board free. Punk takes his spot and starts setting up the pieces for another game. "I'm pretty sure I can beat you, Cabana." He grins.

"Hmm, maybe." You move a pawn and he wait for him to make his move. "How's work?" It's the first time you've mentioned wrestling all day and he sighs, moving his first piece.

"It could be worse." You make another move and he frowns, nose scrunching up in concentration. "When I re-signed, I wanted to make a difference." He says, moving a knight.

"Oh?" You've never asked him why he signed with them again, you thought of it but didn't think he'd answer if you did.

"Feels like nothing's changed, like everything's still the same." He sighs and looks at you. "I wonder sometimes, if I decided to try to change the wrong thing." He moves another piece and you consider the board.

"Nothing'll change if you don't try, Punkers." You tell him and he laughs softly, you make your move.

"I guess but it's like there's this ceiling that I keep banging my head on." He moves and looks at you; his eyes have an odd, sad look in them. "I'm getting tired of having a headache, Colt." You move and wait for him. "The status quo, it doesn't change." He moves again, taking one of your pawns.

"The view never changes?" You take his knight.

"Hmm." He moves his queen and you put him in check. "Mercury told me, I couldn't change anything from my couch, sometimes I wonder if he was wrong." He takes the piece holding his king in check.

"I don't understand." You tell him and you don't, nothing changes if you don't take action, you've learnt that well enough over the years.

"Sometimes." He sighs, moves to take another one of your pawns, putting you in check. "It's like I think the ceiling will always be there for me and no matter what I do, it won't change so maybe I should let someone else try, you know?" You move a piece to take you out of check.

"I... I guess but Punkers, who else is there?" There's only one him, only one CM Punk, there's no one who'd ever be able to fill his shoes, of that you're certain, if a little biased but love will make you that way.

"The _smarks_ are already tired of me. It all feels, I dunno, _pointless_." He moves a rook for some reason you don't understand.

"I let you go so you could have the career you deserve." You say softly, taking a pawn. "I let you go." He looks at you, something horridly hurt in his eyes. "I _tried _to let you." You clarify, there's no real way for you to ever truly let go of him, you're the tail, he's the comet, you go together.

"Feels like you succeeded." He mutters, moving his rook back, stalling for time it seems. You laugh.

"I can't do without you, Punkers." You smile at him when he looks up at you. "I spend more time haunting your place than mine. I feel like I should be paying your utilities half the time." He smiles at you, a soft slightly smug grin.

"If it makes you feel any better, it's not magic pixies that clean your place." His grin turns wry and you shake your head, the games a mess, neither of you are going to win. "Draw?" He stands and offers you his hand.

"Draw." You say as you take it and stand, keeping a hold of it as you start wandering around again.

You spend a few more hours walking through the park, a few more hours with the ugly blanket tucked under your arm and his hand in your own. It's dark by the time you make it back to his place. You stand on his doorstep nervously, watching him, as he watches you, his eyes bright and happy for the first time in a long time, you think.

"You have fun?" You ask him, his hand still in your own, your thumb stroking his skin.

"I did." He smiles and yawns. "You wanna come in?" He's wearing a soft, little smile, something wonderfully close to _your_ smile but one you're a little more willing to share with the general populace.

"On a first date?" You laugh and he snorts.

"Yeah, yeah, good point. I pick next time, right?" He smiles and you can't keep your grin back. _Next time_, he's already planning a next time; the very idea makes you unbelievably happy. "Gonna have to think up something good to beat this." He mutters and you pull him into a hug, pressing a kiss to his forehead as you let him go.

"I'm sure you'll think of something, Punkers." He rubs at the back of his neck and smiles slightly.

"I'll try." You let his hand go for the first time in hours and walk down the steps of his house. "G'night Colt." He smiles at you, your heart beating a little faster, the smile on his lips is kitten fluff soft, a smile you've never seen outside of the bedroom really, _your _smile.

"G'night Punkers." You say softly and wait for him to enter his place before walking home, a ridiculous grin on your face.

* * *

**********adg888**: I'm over 15 and don't hate Cena too! :D I like the idea of Life in a monocle but I do rather wish it'd gotten the top hat and tails to go with it. :D

**InYourHonour**: Poor Cena and his black eye... I feel kind of bad for that. ;)

**littleone1389**: One date, I hope it was okay! :3

**alizabethianrose**: Colt is Punk's bastard... it's just, you know, taken him _years_ to accept that...

**RebelleCherry**: Poor Cena... I do feel kind of bad for his bumbling and his black eye... :)

_I hope you enjoyed it! As ever, comments, criticisms, thoughts, random observations and reviews are all welcomed and encouraged!_

**_As such: Please leave a review, even if it's just "Hey, that didn't suck", I'd be so far and beyond grateful. Heck even if you thought it did suck, tell me too, something is better than nothing after all. :D_**


	10. Work Rate

_Punk chapter: 1 person PoV Warnings: Slash, Profanity. **text like this is a date** on Punk's calendar **text like this is Colt's reply**_

* * *

_**September twenty-sixth**_

_**First date: Do I wear suit? Do I take flowers? Should I get a haircut? **_

So, that was _nice_, wasn't it, Punk.

Shut it you, you've been quiet all fucking day so you can piss off again. It wasn't nice, it was _perfect_. It was better than I was expecting, better than I'd _hoped_. Just a day with him, me and Colt, all day doing nothing, just together.

Like I said, _nice_.

Shut up.

So, what you gonna do to top that, Punk?

Uh, good question. How do I top that? Do I need to top it? Is there a standard set? When do I have _time_ to arrange something? When does he have time? I need to plan.

I think you need to probably step away from the front door first, Punk. Maybe take your shoes off and actually come inside, instead of standing there like an idiot.

_You get home okay? - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 22:13_

Although being an idiot is apparently a _thing_ with you two.

_You walked me to the door, Cabana. - sent 22:16_

_I know but you know, reasons! - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 22:20_

_Eloquent. Did you make it home? - sent 22:23_

_Yup. I did, all the way, with only minimal distractions. I'm very proud of myself! - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 22:27_

_Well done, Colt. What you doing now? - sent 22:35_

_Watching some VICE documentary on YouTube. - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 22:39_

_Which one? - sent 22:43_

_Why? - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 22:48_

_I need something to do, might as well watch TV. - sent 22:51_

_**October seventeenth - twentieth **_

_**Egypt - bring comics! **_

_**BRING ME BACK A CAMEL PUNKERS!**_

_Bring dessert! Something sweet! - sent 06:09_

I'm not sure you needed to be up at six a.m. to tell him that Punk. I understand you're excited but this is ridiculous! Honestly, you're making _dinner, _he's not coming over for another twelve hours.

Less than twelve, just over eleven.

My point thanks you for proving it. Relax; you've been on how many of these _dates_ now?

A few.

And you're buzzing around the place like a demented mosquito.

I just, I want it to be good. We've managed to avoid bad dates so far, I don't want the first bad one to be one of mine.

Relax! It won't be, it'll be fine, it'll be fun.

_Punkers, lie down, close your eyes, RELAX! I'll go to that awesome bakery downtown. Right now, though, I want you to sleep, okay? Do you need me to call? - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 06:12_

"Morning."

"_Punkers? Where are you?"_

"In the kitchen."

"_Go to the couch_. _Lie down, you lying down?_"

"Uh-huh."

"_Close your eyes, deep breaths, relax._"

You know its cute how quickly you do as he asks you, Punk. How quickly your breathing matches his.

"_I saw this weird bug the other day, it had these kind of shiny wings, like oily tinfoil_."

He's just going to ramble on, isn't he?

Uh-huh...

You're going to fall asleep just cause he asks?

Uh-huh...

_**October twenty-sixth**_

_**HAPPY BIRTHDAY PUNKERS! xoxo **_

"Hey! You home?"

Your idiot, it seems, has decided to come in person rather than leaving sappy messages on the calendar.

"In here." Is that a cake box?

"Got you a present!"

"You got me cake?"

"Well, it's your birthday. Cake is traditional."

Your cake appears to be in the shape of a pizza.

"My cake is fucking awesome."

"Well, I'm glad you like it."

"This is legitimately the greatest cake I have ever seen."

"So, what you wanna do?" Eat my cake, I'll be perfectly happy to sit here, watching shitty TV and eating cake, feeling fat, Cabana.

"I'll get a knife, some plates, find something to watch, Colt."

"Wait, you just wanna sit on the couch and eat?"

"Is there something else you'd planned?" Is this a bad idea, I kind of like it. You look confused, Colt, was there something you'd planned, have I fucked your plans up? I'm kind of tired, I just wanna rest.

Perhaps he was banking on you being less of an old woman, Punk.

"Nope, it's a good idea to me. C'mere, don't sit so far away."

Cake, snuggling and birthday kisses, quite the romantic, isn't he? Are you seriously feeding him cake?

What? Just cause spaghetti is traditional, doesn't mean you can't be all Lady and the Tramp with cake.

"Hmm, happy birthday to me."

_**November second - ninth**_

_**European Tour - Yay!**_

_**Call me! You're 5 hours ahead!**_

_**Stop scribbling all over my calendar!**_

_**You scribble all over it! :(**_

_**It's MY calendar! **_

"What's that?" Really, what does it look like, Cabana?

"A whiteboard."

"I can see that, Punkers."

Then why is he asking stupid questions, Punk?

Because he's an idiot, it's what he does.

"Why have you bought a- Oh no, give me the hammer, you'll burst a water pipe or something."

"I'm perfectly capable of hammering a nail into the wall, Colt."

I'm sure you are, Punk but let him have his being a macho man moment, he does so like looking after you.

He spends far too much time indulging my being a girl, Life.

Hmm, maybe but you do so like cooking for him.

I can hammer a nail into a wall but if he screws up then it's his fault and not mine, I'm sure I can claim that on insurance.

Whatever makes you feel better about being a girl, Punk.

"This wall, yeah?"

"Uh-huh, there's good."

"So, the board?"

"You can scribble all over it instead." Don't laugh at me! My calendar is full of important information, it's not a message board!

Important information like when the next episode of the _Walking Dead _is on and reminders to not read all of your comics in the airport, again.

Important, like I said.

"Hmm, I suppose, I can make a list of all the shit I've used when you're gone."

"You could just buy more, Cabana." Don't think hugging me is going to make up for eating all my butterscotch pudding.

Kissing seems to have equated to forgiveness quite well though Punk.

Shut it, this is our first kiss in far too long, lemme enjoy it in peace.

_**December third **_

_**Raw, Greensboro - Ryback: BUY MORE ICEPACKS!**_

_**Can someone PLEASE teach Goldberg 2.0 how to wrestle properly!**_

_**Can you stop scribbling on the calendar!**_

_**There's a shopping list on the board!**_

_**Then buy the stuff and wipe it clean!**_

_**But... Punkers... It's your shopping list! I don't know where you buy all the delicious stuff. **_

_**You're coming shopping with me next time.**_

_**:'(**_

"Sorry this has been a shitty date." I really am, I should have cancelled. Sitting round watching TV with me, cause alls I can do is rest my knee, has to be fucking dull. Fucking McMahon, I swear he's trying to destroy me. Alls I needed was a couple of days to heal up but no, I gotta be there.

You're the Champ, Punk; you _have_ be there, crutches and all!

"You're hurt, Punkers. Besides, this is perfect. I've got everything I could want, right here." Sap.

He is, isn't he? You love it though, don't you, Punk? Love lying with your head in his lap, watching shitty TV, eating cheat day food, being stroked like a kitty. You're just as big of a sap as he is.

Fuck you, I'm hurt, I deserve to be petted a little.

"Oh?"

"You, pizza and a million cable channels, what more could a Cabana possibly need?" I'm first on that list? Wrestling isn't even a consideration on that list?

"What about being in the ring?"

Apparently, we're asking about that, I see, Punk. Do we need to have the brain and mouth filter talk again?

"Ha, can't wrestle with you on my lap." I can tell there's a but coming, that expression means there's a _but, _but where? "But, you're right, I guess wrestling's in there."

Rather hypocritical, wouldn't you say, Punk? I mean you choose wrestling over him, repeatedly, you put yourself first constantly, surely, him doing the same is to be expected?

I just wanna know for sure. So long ago, I told him to be selfish. All this time dating, it's been so good, we've been so happy together; I'm just waiting for the fuck-up.

You're looking for holes so you can rend them? Punk, stop it. Enjoy this, enjoy him being with you. You know how grim it is without him, so enjoy him when he's here, you stupid bastard.

"Where?" Don't laugh at me, Cabana.

"Somewhere before pizza." What? Don't look at me like that, Colt, I want a proper answer. "After my lap warmer though, a cold lap is a terrible tragedy."

See your idiot puts you first, so stop looking for those holes, Punk, stop waiting for this to fall apart.

"Good, I'm glad it's on the list, otherwise, I'd have been giving you shout-outs for no reason." You're right, Life, I'll relax, enjoy this, enjoy his arms, enjoy his lap, enjoy his kisses whilst I have them.

_**January thirteenth - twenty-eighth**_

_**I'm in Japan - 13 hours ahead Punkers, call me if you need to!**_

_**January twenty-eighth**_

_**Raw Vegas - 434 days - I am going to forget that so fucking much, why couldn't it have been all the same number or something?**_

_So I lost to the Rock, you landed yet so I can complain about it? - sent 00:06_

_Come to the airport. - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 00:09_

_What why? - sent 00:16_

_Just get here - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 00:19_

Where is he?

Try the arrivals waiting room, Punk.

What, why?

Trust me.

"Hey." Colt, why are you dragging me...

Romance by the urinals, your idiot is a strange one.

"You wanna make out in the bathroom again, Cabana?"

"Hmm, figured it might cheer you up. Four hundred and thirty-four days is impressive."

"Yeah, it's great. Blah, blah, blah. Less talking more kissing." Fuck, I have missed you kissing me, missed your arms, these last few weeks have been far too long, phone calls don't cut it, I need you near me more often. "Colt, damn it! Don't mark me, I'm not wearing make-up."

"Sorry, Punkers. Won't happen again." Damn right, you look contrite.

"Good. More kissing?"

"Yes, sir."

Ha, Sir Punk, brings back such memories.

"Don't call me _sir_."

You do realise that biting him will leave a mark, right? Hypocrisy is something you wear so very often, Punk.

_**February twenty-fifth**_

_**Raw, Dallas - I AM BATMAN NOT LEX LUTHOR DAMN IT!**_

_**FUCKING PILEDRIVER THAT PUNKERS TOUCHING BASTARD!**_

_**He didn't touch me, Colt.**_

_**He tried! He's lucky all I did was punch him! :(**_

_**If you're going to be all caveman, I'm not replacing the pudding cups.**_

_**O.O But... Have a good match, Punkers! :3**_

"So little Mountain Goat, you seem happier." Hello Cena, please sit on my packing crate, it's not like I was having a nap or anything, please make yourself at home.

"I am."

"You and the bastard sort things out? They less _complicated_?" You're a smug asshole Cena, you know this, right?

"Not complicated at all." Mostly, kind of, well it's a little complicated, logistics and all that but not too complicated, easy in fact. So easy, it's embarrassing that we let it be so complicated for so long.

_Hey, so you home Thursday right? - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 14:16_

"That from the bastard?"

"Huh?" How'd you know that, Cena?

The ridiculous grin you're wearing, Punk.

"You look _extra_ happy." Oh, fuck off both of you. "It's a relief, you know?"

_I am, flight should be on the calendar, come get me? - sent 14:24_

"Relief?" Why?

"Was worried. When I called him, you were in a bad way, little Mountain Goat."

I think perhaps, Punk, you should advise Cena to not put his arm around your shoulders. I'm certain your idiot will be able to tell and I don't think SuperCena wants another black eye.

Good point, I'll find another packing crate to sleep on.

"I told you, I have a safety net."

_Of course, like I'd let you waste money on a cab. - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 14:32_

_Yeah, yeah, like money's the reason you're coming to get me. - sent 14:36_

_REMEMBER PILEDIVE COLD AS ICE! - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 14:43_

"I'm glad it's finally working. I'll let you have your nap in peace."

_I see you followed my advice! - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 00:01_

_Well you seemed rather attached to the idea. - sent 00:08_

_You're a good boyfriend, Punkers. - Boom Boom Colt Cabana 00:13_

Boyfriend? Huh... I guess.

_Best in the World! - sent 00:26_

_**March fourth**_

_**Raw, Buffalo - Fatal four-way... Whose fucking idea was this shit?**_

_**Four-way?! I don't approve! Cena better not be involved!**_

"_So, now I see what you meant. What the fuck was that?_"

"Fucking Incompetent strikes again?" I don't know. They should have just let Mark, Paul and me plan something out. We're not fucking green idiots; we can plan a fucking angle.

"_It's not Fucking Incompetent's fault they live up to their name._"

"I guess, but still..."

"_I'm pretty sure the new guy in Subway could write a better angle than them, Punkers._"

"You've another new Subway guy?"

"_I do, we're getting through them. I'm being to worry._"

"Don't eat the salami, its people."

"_And now in your best Charlton Heston voice._"

"Ahem... SALAMI IS PEOPLE!"

"_Very impressive, Punkers._"

"Thank you."

"_You gonna sleep okay? I can stay on for a while._"

"Nah, I'm good."

"_If you're not sleeping in a hour call me back, kay? There's this really fucking confusing documentary I wanna watch but I fear it'll go over my head, you can help me divine meaning from it._"

"Yeah, I will. G'night Colt."

"_G'night Punkers._"

Punk? Punk? Punk?

Shut it, I'm going to sleep.

_**April seventh**_

_**Mania, MetLife - 21-0**_

_**Skip it! Come do 5DW with me and Marty!**_

_**Tempting...**_

_**It'll be fun! You can even touch the smooth belly, well if you ask nice.**_

_**And suddenly wrestling a pissed off zombie is SO much more appealing**_**.**

"Hey." Huh?

You fell asleep on the sofa, Punk.

I've been sleeping so much lately, why the fuck you still here, Life?

Quality over quantity? I don't know. How many times must _I stress I am the voice in your head_. I have no idea what the hell is wrong with you.

"You okay, Punkers? You look pale." Your hand's nice and cold, Colt.

"I'm _tired_." I really am, so very fucking tired, it's unreal.

"C'mon, let's get you to bed then. Can't have you falling asleep on Taker tomorrow."

"Carry me."

Really, Punk? You want him to carry you to bed, what are you a child?

I'm tired, he's strong and carrying me, see good boyfriend, so fuck you.

"You gonna be okay while I shower?" I should probably shower too; I dunno if I'll have time in the morning, they've got me doing stuff. "Punkers?"

"Huh?"

I think, you're getting sick, Punk. Perhaps, it's a good thing they're giving you a little holiday after Mania.

I should tell him about that really, I don't think I have yet, I really shouldn't keep it from him but, what if he doesn't want me around all that time, what if he's waiting for twenty fourteen... I don't know, I think I'm over thinking things.

Telling him'll keep for tomorrow, let him tuck you in and get some proper rest when he's back. See right on schedule, all nice, clean and wrapping you up in his arms. He loves you, stop stressing on it, _stop_ over thinking! You're taking it slow, building up a relationship that will last the pair of your idiots. Trust in him, Punk. He loves you, you know he does, just give him time to say it again. Stop brooding and over thinking.

"Shh, go back to sleep Punkers." There's two advantages to no hair, one quicker in the shower, two I can feel your kisses better, Colt.

"Kay, g'night, love you."

* * *

******adg888**: Colt did a good job! I'm pleased with how well that came together... Punk's plans are vague and indistinct however...

**RebelleCheery**: A decade of history without a single proper date... they are silly boys at heart really. :3 Self-control, its a thing poor Colt is exercising.

******littleone1389**: More fluff, but Life and Punk remain, Life and Punk... The ugly blanket is important, it had to come on the date. :3

**alizabethianrose**: It's all sap from here on out, don't trust me, even when I'm saying don't trust me. ;)

**bitter-alisa**: Mentor? Wasn't sure you were still reading. :3 No fucking up yet. :) Plenty of fluff, sappy, cuddly fluff, I assure you.

_I hope you enjoyed it! As ever, comments, criticisms, thoughts, random observations and reviews are all welcomed and encouraged!_

**_As such: Please leave a review, even if it's just "Hey, that didn't suck", I'd be so far and beyond grateful. Heck even if you thought it did suck, tell me too, something is better than nothing after all. :D First time reviewer? Don't be shy! I'm nice, honest(!), no matter what you think, your thoughts are important to me. :3_**


	11. Quaternary: Pleistocene

_Colt chapter: 2nd person PoV Warnings: Slash, Profanity, Smut._

* * *

You lay awake after he fell back asleep, snuggled up on your chest, his breathing even and deep. You lay awake fizzing with excitement, not for his Mania match, not for any of the stuff you had planned for tomorrow but because of what he said. You've not said anything about love to each other since starting dating. It's been an unspoken given but now he's said it and you're kind of desperate to say it back, you want to tell him how much you love him but he's asleep and he needs that more right now.

"Hey, wakey-wakey, Punkers." You shake his shoulder carefully, he snuffles at the pillow, trying to borrow further into it.

"Sleeping." He mutters, voice muffled by the pillow his face is buried in.

"Have a good match." You tell him softly, stroking the back of his head.

"You woke me up for that?" He sounds mildly annoyed and turns to look at you, blinking sleepily.

"Well, I woke you up to say goodbye, really. I gotta go." He sits up slowly and reaches up to you, drawing you down for a kiss.

"Have fun." He's smiling when you break the kiss.

"Hmm, you too. Don't kill Taker, the Internet would be pissed." You laugh and stroke his cheek.

"I'd have to remove the head or destroy the brain." He grins and you shake your head at him. "We've gone over the match a dozen times, I'm sure it'll be okay."

"It'll be the best on the card." You tell him firmly and he nods vaguely, flopping back down on the bed.

"Do I gotta get up yet?" He groans, his alarm goes off after he finishes talking and you laugh at the horrified face he pulls.

"Apparently." You switch the alarm off and toss him his cell. "Up and at'em, Punkers." He grumbles but does at least sit up, twisting so his feet are on the floor.

"Meet you back here, yeah?" He asks and you nod, another night in an over-priced hotel at the expense of the WWE, is not something you're going to turn down.

"Yup." You crouch in front of him and tilt his chin towards you. "See you later, kay?" He nods and you kiss him. You walk to the door and pause just before opening it. "Oh and Punkers?" He turns to look at you, sleep still clouding his eyes. "I love you too." His eyes grow wide and a huge grin spreads over his face then rapidly morphs into your smile. "Have a good match." You call to him as you leave, no matter what happens, you know you're going to be in a good mood all day, the smile on his face leaves you in no doubt of that.

You meet him after Mania in the lobby of the hotel. You've still not agreed on how to act with each other in public but you do hug him, if you're honest it's more of an embrace really, your arms wrap around him firmly, his face against your neck. It possibly looks more intimate than two best friends should but you don't really think that matters too much in the grand scheme of things.

"C'mon." He limps ahead of you, holding your hand in his, a few people staring at you oddly. You absently wonder if there are going to be random, hard to explain photos on the internet later but find you don't really care.

"You fucked your knee?" You ask him and he nods.

"Was convinced I'd broken it." He mutters, leaning against you, as you wait for the elevator.

"You should have said." You throw his arm around your shoulders, supporting his weight. He slumps against you heavily, your arm wraps around his waist and you're sure you hear a snap of a camera but ignore it, he doesn't seem to care and you don't in the least. The elevator doors open and you enter. Once inside, with the doors closed and floor selected, he turns his face to you, pulling you down for a kiss.

"You see my match?" He asks you as he draws back from you, there's a smile on his lips but a tinge of pain in his eyes and you frown.

"You should be in bed or on crutches at least." You mutter, he snorts in response, shaking his head and you run your hand over his shaved scalp. "I didn't get a chance to, can watch it in the room, yeah?" You're not sure how you're going to get him there though. You're not letting him walk, his leg is obviously hurting, walking will exacerbate it but there's no way he'll let you pick him up. You settle on giving him a piggyback ride, dropping to crouch in front of him when the elevator stops, he laughs but does get on your back. You pass a very confused looking Cena, on the way back to the room, his eyebrows raised, his pretty girlfriend at his side, both of them staring like they were seeing things. You think Punkers probably waves, one of his hands moves from around you at least.

"Key's in my pocket." He squeezes you when you get to the room and you free up one arm, him clinging to your back like a monkey, somehow you manage to find the room key. Once you're through the door, you let him off your back and close it. He hobbles to the bed and almost collapses with a tired groan.

"You look beat, Punkers." You mutter, sitting by his sprawled form. Your hand runs over the stubble on his head and his eyes drift closed. "Get some sleep." You kiss his forehead and stand, kneeling down to untie his shoes and kick off your own. You lay down beside him and he wriggles closer, rests his head on your shoulder, as your hand starts stroking his back.

"Lemme sleep an hour, then we can go eat." You know full well that you're going to let him sleep for as long as he needs it but you nod anyway.

Whilst he sleeps you watch his match over, grateful the WWE are footing the bill for replays on cable. It's a good match but you can see the exact moment he hurt his knee, he didn't get enough height on the Randy Savage elbow, his knee collided with the announce table. When it happens you find yourself wincing, there's no way that felt good. He finished the match though, pulled the rest of it off just fine. For such a venerable veteran, Taker looked good in there with him. You watched the rest of the pay per view and considering the rest of the card, you'd say his was the best match on it but as ever, you're biased.

"I'm sure I said an hour." He mutters eventually, sounding more awake and in less pain.

"I let you sleep an hour. I just didn't wake you up after it was done." You stroke his head and he snorts, wriggling to sit up beside you. "You hungry?" He yawns and nods. "Room service?" Another nod and you make the call, ordering something at random.

"So, uh this morning?" He asks once the food has been demolished.

"This morning?" You ask him, a grin on your face; he rubs the back of his neck and picks at the bedspread.

"You love me?" He says softly, not looking at you, seemingly more interested in picking at the loose thread.

"I do." You tell him solemnly, he looks up, a mildly morose expression in his eyes at your tone, that melts when he meets your eyes, your smiles bleeds over his lips and he laughs.

"An odd time to tell me, don't you think?" He moves over slightly on the bed, swearing when the movement jars his leg, you absently place a pillow under it, stroking his shin, considering the swelling under the bandages.

"No more odd than you muttering it half asleep last night, Punkers." He makes an odd snort and you look up at him. "What?" He shakes his head and pats the bed beside him.

"I was sleeping, you can't hold me accountable for that." He says, you sit beside him and let him rest his head on your shoulder, your arm wrapping around him. "I meant it though."

"Of course." You nod and he turns to you, a mildly put out expression on his face.

"Asshole." He mutters, kissing you and settling back at your side, after snagging the remote for the TV.

"Love you too, Punkers." He snorts and starts clicking through the stations.

"Yeah, yeah." He squirms slightly, wriggles over to sit between your legs, his head resting on your chest, wrapping your arms around him. "Love you." He kisses your bicep and snuggles against your chest. "Pick something." You take the remote and try to find something worth watching. "You know, we're really quite shit at being romantic. I had this big grand gesture planned and alls it is some random, yeah I know in a hotel." He sounds wryly amused and you press a kiss to the top of his head.

"I'm all for getting big romantic gestures anyway." He laughs at you and you squeeze him tighter. "Documentary on mountain goats?" You ask him and he laughs.

"Yes! Maybe I finally work out what the fuck Cena's talking about." You squeeze him again, you're still mildly pissed that Cena was attempting to help him sleep but he's dating one of the pretty Bella sisters now, Punkers is quite safe from drunken Cena based advances, quite safe from all advances you think, he loves you, you love him and this time you're certain that's more than enough.

Two weeks after Mania, there's a knock on your door, a slightly bedraggled looking Punkers is on the other side, a grin on his face and a lemon in his hand. You raise an eyebrow at him and step aside to let him limp in. The fact that he's still limping makes you worry, you hope they've not had him wrestle, you've not gotten time to watch Raw yet but you are confused as to why he's here on a Tuesday.

"Shouldn't you be on the road?" You ask him as he kicks off his shoes, straightening them and then hanging up his jacket. He hands you the lemon and hobbles off to the sofa.

_**SUMMER HOLIDAY**_

Is carved into the side of it, you can't help but shake your head, he's a weird one, your Punkers and that you can lay that claim, are fully and totally certain you can, makes you grin.

"Off till the pay per view here in June." He smiles up at you from his spot on the couch. "Not theirs in the least." He smiles and you flop down beside him.

"All mine?" You gather him to you and he grins, using his weight to push you onto your back, clambering over you to claim a greedy kiss.

"All mine." He smirks and kisses you once more. You can't help but think this might be an incredibly enjoyable vacation.

"Hey, you in?" You call into his house, you just got back and really you probably should have gone back to your place but he's on holiday, he's free for now and you can't resist the urge to be around him as much as possible. The whole place seems deserted though. You move towards his bedroom, assuming he might still be asleep and hear a soft moan of your name. You know the tone of that moan; know it well. You hear another moan and a soft gasp. He's masturbating, the frequency of your name from his lips, leaves you in no doubt as to who he's thinking of as he touches himself. You consider your options; you can leave, let him finish in peace, maybe call before coming over later. You can go back down stairs, wait for him to finish and then make your presence known, or you can open the door and watch him. You crack the door open and peek in. "You awake, Punkers?" You ask pointlessly, you know full well he's up.

"Hey!" He sounds slightly startled but doesn't move from the odd position he's lying in, his head at the opposite end of the bed to the pillows. It looks like he's on all fours but his ass is much higher, you suppose that his arms must be under him, so he can jack off. The clothes he wore to sleep in are in a heap on the floor by a comic book. You walk into the room and sit by him, he squirms and twists to lie on his side, his head propped up in his hand, his lips wearing your smile.

"Are you?" You trail off not entirely sure what you're asking him but he smiles slightly anyway. Your hand sneaks under the covers without you really thinking about it and skims down his shoulder, along his bare thigh, you pull it back quickly and he laughs at you.

"Am I what?" He's still smiling, though it's taken on something of a leer. "Naked? Yes. Jerking off? I was." He grins and tugs at your shirt. You pull it over your head and lean down to kiss him. "Clothes off." You do as he asks and join him under the covers, him still on his side, as he pulls you close and kisses you. This is the first time, since you started dating, that you've been naked together, the first time you've touched him with sex on your mind and your hands have a life of their own, running down his back, squeezing his ass. "Ah, fuck." He moans and you frown, run your hand back over his ass and feel the end of the dildo inside of him.

"You were fucking yourself?" You ask him softly, he nods, his eyes focussed and bright as they stare into your own. You press on the end of the toy inside him and he moans again. "What you thinking bout?" You pull the toy out a little and press it in again, fucking him slowly.

"What'd you think I was thinking bout?" His voice is soft. He retakes the position he must have been in before, his arms trapped under him, one jacking his cock, the other brushing your fingers as you fuck him with the dildo. You move behind him, the blankets on his bed tenting over you as you do and watch the dildo moving inside of him."Lube's somewhere, c'mon, fucker. I've been waiting for this." He turns to look at you. You find the bottle and coat your cock, stroking it hard. You pull the dildo from him, tossing it somewhere out of the bed and enter him slowly. You've missed the feeling of his body around you but you're not exactly happy about taking him from behind like this. It doesn't feel like the _arrangement_ though, it feels gloriously different. He's rocking back against you, his forehead pressed against the bed, the air thick and heavy in your little blanket tent.

"You think you can stay like this?" You ask him, he turns his head to look at you, one side of his face pressed against the bed, his mouth open, moaning softly as you thrust into him slowly.

"I can try." He smiles and you press a kiss to his shoulder. It's a strange position, his legs splayed wide, yet still resting on his knees. It has to be putting pressure on his hips in an uncomfortable way but he's not complaining. You keep moving slow and deep, pressing soft kisses to his shoulder, when he gives an odd snort of amusement.

"What?" You ask him, kissing his shoulder again, another amused noise escapes him and you're at a loss as to why.

"Your sideburn's getting long." He gasps as you thrust deeply inside of him.

"Is it?" You smirk slightly and move one hand, trail it down his side, tickling at his ribs, the sound he makes is gloriously close to a giggle and you press another kiss to his shoulder.

"Seriously, that kinda tickles." You press more kisses to his shoulder and his legs give out beneath him, leaving him sprawled awkwardly and laughing beneath you.

"C'mon." The one eye of his you can see is focussed on you. "Take this seriously." You snort and tickle his ribs again, thrusting into him deeply. He makes what is an odd cross between a laugh and a moan. You're still deep inside of him, tickling his ribs as he squirms beneath you, writhing slightly, moaning and laughing at the same time. You suppose all of the wriggling he's doing is rubbing his cock against the sheets, simulating him and your tickling touches are making him laugh. It's an odd sound but you find you like it. You pull out of him and flop onto your back, tugging him over you, cradling his face in your hands, his hips moving, rubbing his cock against your own. It's a strange sensation, arousing in an unexpected way. "Love you." He mutters, leaning down to kiss you, it's a strange kiss, not particularly deep, his tongue flicking over your lips fleetingly. It's light and yet heavy, this moment is something special, you can tell, this is something that you're going to look back on fondly. Your hands run down his back to squeeze his ass, he moans and ruts against you more.

"Love you too, asshole." You smile up at him and he grins back, grinding down against you more firmly.

"Your asshole." He moans, his body rocking against yours. His fingers trail down one of your arms and then back up, tickling at your skin and making you laugh. You rock up against him and use the momentum to switch positions, pinning him on his back.

"Mine, huh?" You smirk and start kissing and lapping at his throat, his moans changing pitch, softer, more breathy. You keep rocking down against him, his hips moving up to meet yours.

"Faster." Eventually he gasps out and you smirk, tickling him once more. He makes an odd little growl and before you really know what's going on, you're on your back again, him moving over you frantically, his hand between your bodies, holding your cocks firmly together. When he comes, he doesn't stop, keeps moving until your own orgasm hits, then he collapses against you with a sigh. You lie there in silence, the wrong way up on the bed, the comforter still mostly over you both, feeling perfectly content. If his hair was still long, it would be a tangled mess, the thought makes you laugh and he raises his head wearily. "What?"

"Was thinking the mess your hair would be in." You smile, kissing him. He looks at you oddly and lets his head flop back down.

"Ain't got no hair." He mutters. "Thinking of growing back though." His breath is soft and warm over your skin, one of his hands is drawing vague shapes on your chest, the other is holding one of your own, your free hand stroking the skin of his waist.

"I'm getting hobo Punkers back?" You chuckle and he licks your chest, it's an odd retaliation, you think, you really don't mind being licked by him.

"No but something a little longer, I'm sick off looking like a skinhead." He mutters.

"Well, skinheads make for bad faces." You tell him, there's no doubt in your mind he'll be playing face once more, when he goes back to work. He nods and squeezes your hand.

"They do." He lies on you a while longer, stroking your chest. "So, that was _different_." He says after a long time.

"It was." You agree easily, it really was different, you've never had sex like that before, sex has always been rather heavy, rather _serious_ between you, not light, not _fun_ and that had been fun. This is different too, you don't think you can remember ever just holding him like this after sex, holding him, talking about nothing, stroking his skin, you're sure it's never happened, it's always been holding him whilst he sleeps, you feeling like his guardian. "You like it?" You ask him, kissing the top of his head softly. He nods, stretches slightly on top of you.

"Was good?" It sounds subtly like a question and you make an agreeing noise, it was good, better than good really. "Should get up." He mutters softly, kissing your chest. "We're gonna stick together."

"It's cum, Punkers, not superglue." You laugh at him and he moves, straddles your thighs and grins down at you, there's a trail on drying cum on his stomach that he swipes a finger through and licks clean.

"Shower at least, I'm sure we've plans." His lips settling in your smile, the best thing about this holiday of his is how often he wears that smile, how it seems to be almost permanent lately.

"Do we?" Your hands settle at his waist, stroking his skin lightly. "I don't remember plans." Your hands trail over his skin a little more and he stands.

"C'mon, shower. Even if there are no _plans_, we can make some." You let him drag you to your feet and follow him to the shower.

You stand under the spray whilst he rustles around on the other side of the curtain. There's a brief draft and then he's pressed against your back.

"I was thinking." You say as you stroke his arms. "I'm dating someone as beautiful as you and really we've only had sex in two, maybe three positions." He snorts when you call him beautiful but does press a soft kiss to your shoulder.

"You wanna try and find the Kama Sutra in a book store?" He asks, his chin hooked over your shoulder, his arms tight around you.

"Hmm, actually, I wanna ask you a question." You stroke his arms, tracing over the ink on them.

"Shoot." He mutters, a kiss brushed over your cheek.

"Why do you always bottom?" He snorts and kisses your cheek again.

"Reasons." He steps away from you and starts washing.

"And they are?" You're not entirely certain this is a conversation he wants to have, his movements seem to have a slightly jerky edge to them. "I just wanna know. If you don't wanna answer, it's okay." You assure him softly, taking the washcloth from him and swipe it over his chest gently.

"It's like you're taking care of me." He says softly. "I like it cause it's like..." He sighs, pulling an odd face. "It's like being wrapped up in you." He sounds slightly doubtful, as though he isn't quite satisfied with his answer. "You wanna switch?" He looks at you thoughtfully.

"Would you?" You ask him, letting him take the cloth back, he starts washing you, a distant expression in his eyes. "Just have a think about it, okay?" He nods.

"I'll think about it, but why?" A fair question you suppose, the _why_ is something you've been thinking about too. You want this relationship to be equal, you know letting him fuck you, doesn't quite equate to equality but it would, symbolically at least, be just that to you. His explanation interests you as well. You're rarely something he looks after; you think there's been maybe one or two occasions when you've felt protected by him. The most obvious being the first time you saw him after you were fired, even though you'd been bristling with rage at him, he'd managed to make you feel better. You think you like the idea of being wrapped up in him.

The rest of his holiday you spend together, when you can at least, you still have to travel to shows. Sometimes he comes with you, stays in the cheap hotel you've got for the night, sometimes he stays in Chicago, in your apartment when you're away, going to hockey games, the Hawks are doing well, exceptionally well. He's already started planning to get a tattoo to commemorate their Stanley Cup win and where to put one for when the Cubs win next season, you're as hopeful as he is that the prophecy will be fulfilled but, slightly more realistic, it's _unlikely_ at best.

There's a week before the pay per view they want him to come back for and you're lying in his bed, a night spent talking shit and kissing and a morning spent, so far, vaguely discussing what to have for breakfast and more kissing.

"So, I've been thinking." He says softly, moving so that his head is resting on the pillow by your own, his leg still thrown over you, his hand on your chest. You turn to face him and raise an eyebrow. "I will." He says firmly and you grin.

"Seriously?" He nods, his expression slightly guarded.

"I have a question for you too but, before I go back, I'll top you." He looks away and fidgets slightly; you tilt his face to you and kiss him. You'd been hoping he'd agree, the more you've thought on it, the more you want it, the thought of him over you, inside you, it's something you almost crave now, you want to know how he feels and are slightly ashamed that you don't know already, you've been _together_ for so very long and you've never let him have this, it's something you think you both need.

"Question?" You ask, stroking his cheek, he nods and squirms closer, tucks his head under your chin.

"It's a big question... I don't expect an answer right away." Your hand runs through his slowly growing hair, you're glad he's growing it out some, it's nice having it back, even if he's not going to let it get as long as it was, it's nice having something to run your fingers through.

"Kay, what is it?" He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, he feels surprisingly tense in your arms, this really must be a _big_ question to have him so worked up.

"Live here." He says softly and your hand pauses in its movements, you can't believe that's all that has him so worried. "With me." He finishes quietly and you kiss the top of his head. He's an idiot sometimes, like you'd say no to that question, there's no way you can even fathom saying no to this request. "You can keep your place, rent it out or something but you, your stuff, I want here, I want this to be home." His voice seems to get quieter as he talks and you laugh softly, home isn't place, it's him, you could live in the Monte and so long as he was with you, it would be home.

"I'll have to tell the bank, government too." He picks his head up and looks at you, eyes wide, realisation dawning in them slowly.

"Yes?" He says softly, hope tingeing his tone.

"Of course! I guess packing is the plan for today, then?" You ask him, stroking his cheeks, your smile unfaltering on his lips and he nods.

The process of moving into his place was painless, really. Your apartment has been stripped of anything with personality, the appliances left behind for whoever's going to rent it from you. His suggestion makes sense, having a _steady_ second income is a good idea. Everything else is stuffed in a spare room in what is now, you suppose is Punk's and your place. You think it's going to take some getting used to, thinking of this big, expensive place as home but then again, home isn't a place; it's a state of mind. Home is the man currently massacring some garlic. They want him back tomorrow. His vacation has passed far too quickly, it's been far too good, all of this time spent with him, you're going to miss it.

"Whatcha doing?" You ask from the doorway, he jumps at the sound of your voice; you're not surprised he didn't hear you, the stereo is blaring music, him half dancing, half cooking in time with it, singing along occasionally. You enjoy watching him during these incredibly unguarded moments, you have thousands scenes of him, stored in your mind, from this vacation that you're certain no one else would believe.

"Cooking." He smiles and turns the sound down. You perch on a stool and watch him, as he starts attacking some onions.

"You want help?" You don't really _want_ to help, you're terrible in the kitchen but it seems rude to just sit there watching him, even if you enjoy it so much. This room it still feels the most like a home. The whiteboard covered in a shopping list consisting solely of pudding cups, the big calendar covered in rambling notes between you both, the pictures on the fridge, the urn by the coffee machine, these little things make it feel like home. He shakes his head, not glancing up from chopping. "What you making?" He dumps the chopped onions in the pot and glances at you.

"Chilli." You grin, you've developed a fondness for his chilli, it's good, spicy but not too hot. Whilst it cooks, you both lie curled up on the sofa, watching TV and making out like teenagers. You think, you should feel less depressed about his going back to work but you're not happy about it. Well that's not quite true, you're happy that he's getting back in the ring; at least you think you are. You're not entirely certain he's ready for it but that's beside the point, they want him back so he _has_ to go. You're not happy about losing this though, the solid, warm relationship you've established. It, finally, feels like you've gotten this whole relationship deal down, you feel closer to him than you ever have, can tell even better when his mood has shifted, can tell when there's even the slightest _hint_ of something being not right with him and there is a hint there right now but you're not sure how to address it. This relationship should, perhaps, feel claustrophobic but it doesn't, it feels liberating. It feels like having _finally_ accepted that without him, you're not quite whole, you _belong_ together and that's that. You love him, he loves you, there's nothing else to it, plain and simple, yet wonderfully complex, those little deep complexities that make this feel more real. The simple, yet incredibly difficult, moments over these six weeks, where you've just sat and talked about your relationship, discussed where things went wrong in the past, where you should put more work in, his insecurities, your own planned for, worked out in advance, the framework of your relationship established, those conversations brought you so close. Many of them should have been awkward but somehow lying in bed with him snuggled up to you, there's very little that feels awkward and that fact, alone, confirms that this is _finally_ the right choice. You've finally stopped making poor choices and bad decisions, you're on the right track, the _same_ track and it's wonderful, slightly scary but amazing.

"I'm gonna have to learn how to make this." He looks up at you, his eyebrow raised. You're both sitting at the breakfast counter in the kitchen, dinner nearly all gone, the conversation light, mostly about hockey, the Hawks are still looking good, you've been to enough games together for him to have convinced himself that clearly you're good luck charms for them. You're mildly concerned he's going to blow off work, to go to more games in case the Hawks start losing.

"Why?" He looks slightly confused, his fork halfway to his mouth.

"Cause, I'm gonna miss this." You smile at him; he eats the last of his chilli and pushes his plate from him, still looking confused.

"What? My chilli?" You nod and grin at him, finishing your own plate and scooping up the dirty dishes, taking them to the sink to start washing them. "The recipe is in the book on the counter, practice." He smirks.

"Well, not just your chilli, this." He joins you by the sink and starts drying, putting the crockery away. You remember, so long ago, wondering if you'd ever have to learn where to put things in his kitchen and now you have. The plates live in the cupboard on the wall, to the left of the cooker, the cutlery is in the drawer under it, it's stupid but knowing this makes you unreasonably happy, it's one of those little things that makes you love this room.

"_This?_" He leans against the counter and looks at you, you find yourself looking at him too, taking in his appearance, the dish towel over his shoulder, the mutton chops he's grown in, his current scruffy mess of hair, your smile on his lips and some soft happy expression in his eyes, he's so very beautiful in the most mundane and ordinary situations. You wipe a suds covered hand over his face and laugh, as he does nothing but blink at you, looking startled.

"This." You grin at him and then are assaulted with a hastily grabbed handful of bubbles. In the end you're soaked through, pinning him against the island in the middle of the room, kissing him thoroughly, his hands tangled in your hair. "I'm gonna miss you." You tell him softly, letting him up and taking his hand, leading him upstairs. "Gonna miss having you around all the time."

"You're gonna miss having a little housewife." He snorts and you laugh, guiding him into the bathroom, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it in the laundry basket, his own falling a little short, you stoop to pick it up and he's suddenly pressed along your back, his groin against your ass. "If I'm honest, I'm kinda gonna miss being a good little housewife." He murmurs in your ear, you shiver slightly, your request isn't forgotten, you want to feel him inside of you."Shower?" His voice is pitched low and heavy. "I made you a promise, gonna meet it tonight." He kisses the side of your neck and steps away from you.

"In the shower?" You ask him, a smirk on your face and he looks briefly scandalised, eyes wide, head shaking.

"Bed... Unless you want your first time to the shower? Not very romantic, though." He smiles slightly and finishes taking off his clothes. You snort and strip, letting him drag you to the shower.

You end up in bed, lying on your back watching him, he looks incredibly nervous and really, it amuses you more than it should.

"You're sure, right? You've not changed your mind? You can, you know, if you want. I mean, if you've changed you mind, its okay. I like, I _love _bottoming and you might not and I-"

"Punkers." You sit up and pull him down to the bed. "I want you, I want _all _of you." He looks embarrassed and squirms in your arms slightly. "You remember, you told me you take cause I give?" It was in a completely different context but in this moment, his words from nearly two years ago come back to you. He nods slightly, eyes wide, nervousness still glimmering in them. "Well, I'm taking tonight and you're giving, okay? Unless you don't want to, do you?" Your hands cup his face gently and his eyes dart away quickly.

"I do but..." He trails off and you peck him on the nose, trying to encourage him. "I've not topped in a _long_ time." He mutters, you're pretty certain you've never seen him blush in embarrassment before, it's unreasonably _cute_, but you're never saying that aloud, he'd kill you.

"Like riding a bike, Punkers." You try very hard to keep the amusement out of your voice and think you succeed when he nods and starts prepping you. You've practiced this a little, have at least fingered yourself but as ever there is a stark difference between his elegant fingers and your own. His feel indescribably good, your own felt too stubby, his reach inside, grazing your prostate, stretching you easily, yours didn't, they felt nowhere near as good as his do.

"Okay?" He asks eventually, his voice soft, his eyes softer. You don't think you've ever seen this look on him, mildly awestruck. You imagine you must wear a similar expression when you prep him, there is _something_ about making him ready for you, something about knowing that when you're finished with prepping him, you can be joined to intimately with him. You think there is something worthy of being in awe over about that and the look on his face says that he feels the same way. You nod and he eases inside of you, slowly, his movements tiny and careful, slowly growing a little bolder as you relax, your legs wrapping around his waist, drawing him deeper.

It's not what you'd expected, the feeling of him moving inside you. You'd expected there to be something emasculating about it. You're embarrassed to admit that but until recently, you'd always considered having sex with Punkers to be looking after him somewhat, feminising him slightly somehow. You never meant it in a manner that painted him as _weak _or feminine, Punk is anything _but_ weak, certainly not womanly. It's just that it was about protection, offering him shelter, caring for him like you did for long forgotten girlfriends but now, it's changed, the dynamic of your relationship has changed. It was a subtle change, slow and without you really noticing but it's less you looking after him and more you looking after each other, it feels like you've truly become partners in this relationship and this feels like the final step in the process. He moves slowly, stopping infuriatingly often, asking you if you're okay, if you're enjoying it, if you want to stop and alls you want is for him to stop worrying and make love to you.

"Punkers." He looks up at you, something terrifyingly nervous in his eyes, like he expects you to change your mind at any moment. Your hands cup his face, stroking over the bags under his eyes. "I want this, I'm not gonna change my mind, you're not hurting me, I'm enjoying the little I'm getting. There is one problem though." His expression grows even more unhappy and you pull him down for a soft kiss, moaning as his cock nudges your prostate, your legs tightening around him. "My boyfriend is either, the biggest worrywart on the plant or shit at fucking, at this stage, I'm not sure which." You grin at him and his eyes narrow. "See, he hasn't actually started the fucking but fuck me, if he hasn't worried." At this Punkers smirks down at you, pulling back till only the tip of his cock is inside of you.

"You want me to fuck you?" He asks, eyes still narrowed. "I was going gentle cause it's your first time, you know." You shrug and pull him back down.

"Fuck me, Punkers." He thrusts into you firmly, the air in your lungs being forced out at the shock of it.

"See, gentle is better" He strokes your cheek carefully, as you lie there panting slightly; you resist the urge to laugh at him.

"_Fuck_ me." You almost snarl, you want him to fuck you hard and fast, you'll possibly regret it later, gentle and slow, he can have that next time because there _will_ be next time but you want it _hard_ now, you want to feel this in the morning, to be able to feel it long after it's over. The one forceful thrust may have come as a surprise but it felt incredible, you're not letting him monopolise the bottoming rights anymore, sharing is definitely caring. Your orgasm, when it comes over you sometime later, is intense, you don't think you've ever come like that before, the feeling of his cum inside of you is odd, far from unpleasant just odd, you want to get used to it though. He pulls out of you and collapses beside you, sweating and grinning.

"Okay?" His hand strokes your cheek and you press a kiss to his palm, grinning back at him.

"Yup, great, better than great, good, really, really good." He shakes his head and sighs.

"We really need to have a conversation about intensifiers, Colt." You shrug and nod, if he wants to pointlessly try and teach you grammar, he can. Years of English teachers tried their hands, to their own discredit, though they didn't have quite the bargaining chips he does. He rests his head on your chest and wraps your arms about himself.

"You like it?" You ask him stroking his sweaty back, you think it's a stupid question but you feel the need to ask all the same.

"I did." He nods. "Different, good, ridiculously nerve-wracking. I wasn't that freaked out the first time I fucked a chick, honest." He sounds desperately self-deprecating and you kiss his damp hair.

"I'm flattered." You laugh and he licks your chest, you're grateful he's yet to realise that you really don't mind being licked.

"Go to sleep, asshole." He mutters, snuggling against you. You're going to miss this when he's back on the road; you're not actually sure how well you're going to sleep without having him to hold. Over the course of this break, you've grown so accustomed to having him in your arms, him not being there is going to be hard. "Love you." He presses a kiss over your heart and you smile against his hair.

"Love you too. G'night Punkers." His softly murmured _g'night Colt_, you almost don't hear, bottoming is surprisingly tiring.

You wake up when he tries to move out of your arms, you're almost scarily attuned to each other by now, you've lost the ability to sneak out from under him without waking him up, going to the bathroom in the middle of the night, now generally results in an odd mostly asleep conversation before drifting off once more.

"Morning." He says softly, brushing his nose over your own. "Gonna shower, go back to sleep. I'll wake you up when breakfast's ready, kay?" You nod vaguely, rubbing your nose against his and falling back asleep.

"Where is it?" He wakes you up sometime later and the first thing you notice is the little loop of silver metal is gone from his lip. He smiles slightly and takes your hand, dropping the tiny sliver ring into your palm.

"Took it out." He says simply, his expression trying for guarded but you can see the trepidation in his eyes.

"Hmm." You hold his chin and look at him critically. "Hmm, I'm gonna miss this." You hold the little ring up, eyes focussed on the hole where it used to be, he looks uncomfortable with your scrutiny. You kiss him, tongue running over where you were usually too cautious to lap. "I'll mourn it in private though." You grin at him and he relaxes slightly.

"C'mon, you lazy bastard outta bed. I made pancakes." He stands from the bed and offers you a hand. You set the little ring down on the nightstand, you're going to keep it somehow, you're not certain how but this little loop of metal has been with him for so long, been part of him for so long that you want it with you somehow, a little connection to him when he's so far form you.

"Good housewife, Punkers." You pull him to you and kiss him again. It's very odd not having that little ring pressing against your lips, you're going to have to kiss him a lot before he leaves tonight, you need to get familiar with how kissing his ring-less lips feels, after all.

You stand in the crowd, the roar deafening, as ever. The return of hometown hero, CM Punk is always something to see. Your city might be the only thing that rivals you on how much he's loved by someone. The match was decent, far from his best outing though. His holiday has left him a little rusty but it was good all the same. You watch it critically and can't help but think there was something more than ring rust there, a hint of going through the motions in him, as though some part of him wasn't fully invested or fully interested in the match. It's a little something but it niggles at the back of your mind. This is the home straight for his run here, yet there's a little nagging voice in back of your mind that is telling you, this might not be the easy last hoorah the WWE is expecting. The grin he gives you when he wins, something manically mischievous, tells you that this, as with most things relating to him, will not be _easy_.

* * *

******bitter-alisa**: This chapter provides the smut, plenty of smut, mentor, I can only hope it's suitable. :3

**adg888**: It's very odd Life not being a super dick... I feel bad for it becoming supportive. :S

**littleone1389**: One summer holiday, in _super_ long chapter...

**RebelleCherry**: I'm glad you liked it. :3

_I hope you enjoyed it! As ever, comments, criticisms, thoughts, random observations and reviews are all welcomed and encouraged!_

**_As such: Please leave a review, even if it's just "Hey, that didn't suck", I'd be so far and beyond grateful. Heck even if you thought it did suck, tell me too, something is better than nothing after all. :D_**

_Only two chapters left now... I can't believe how fast this has gone by..._


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